MY 

THREE 
HUSBANDS 


't-RTHA.ND  Siv 
,  3RES  OP  BOOKS 
40  PACIFIC  AVINUI 
»«ACH.  CALIF. 


MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


MY 

THREE 
HUSBANDS 


NEW  YORK 

BRENTANO'S 

1921 


Made   in    th«   United  Stntes   of  America 


SRLF 
URL 


I  DEDICATE  this  little  volume.  It  is  dictated  from  a 
bed  of  solitary  and  acute  suffering  (mental)  in  the 
hope  that  if  there  is  really  any  truth  in  the  Revela- 
tions now  appearing  in  the  Sunday  Press  it  may 
meet  my  dear  departeds'  eyes — or  whatever  they 
see  with  over  there,  and  that  they  may  come  to 
understand  some  little  something  more  about  their 
loving  wife,  to  whom  they  were  all  equally  devoted. 


PREFACE 

HAVING  recently  cremated  and  buried  my 
darling  George,  last  of  my  three  husbands 
— all  splendid  specimens  of  manhood,  in 
their  own  peculiar  way,  I  am  resting,  bowed  down 
by  this  triple  crown  of  grief.    To  bury  a  husband 
is  no  light  task — especially  when  one  was  devoted 
to  him,  but  to  bury  three  is  almost  more  than  a 
poor  frail  woman's  strength  can  stand. 

And  then  the  loneliness  1  Ah  me  1  is  there  any- 
thing worse  than  the  tragedy  of  a  lonely  woman's 
life  I  wonder?  The  thought  brings  some  small 
measure  of  relief,  for  when  all  is  said  and  done 
I  have  not  been  so  very  lonely  after  all;  perhaps 
I  may  not  be  lonely  for  long.  As  I  think  of 
my  poor  million  sisters  doomed  to  a  man-less 
existence  pity  surges  up  from  my  bosom  and 
almost  chokes  me.  Poor,  poor  sisters  1  Never  to 
feel  the  touch  of  a  loving  husband's  lips.  Never 
to  hold  a  husband's  heart  in  your  hands  and 
squeeze  it  gently — oh  so  gently.  Never  to  know 
your  power.  How  sad  it  all  is  I  . 
It  is  to  these  less  fortunate  sisters  that  I  address 
7 


8  PREFACE 

these  words,  in  the  hope  that  from  them  they  will 
learn  something  of  the  art  of  Husbandry — the 
getting,  managing,  and  keeping  of  a  husband. 
As  a  thrice-blessed  bride  I  feel  that  I  am  fully 
qualified  for  my  self-appointed  task.  At  all 
events  it  will  occupy  the  time  until  Number  Four 
comes  along. 


CONTENTS 

NUMBER  ONE 

PAGE 

POOR  DEAR  EDWARD 11 

NUMBER  TWO 
ROGER 85 

NUMBER  THREE 
GEORGE— MY  THIRD 165 


MY  THREE  HUSBANDS 

NUMBER   ONE 
POOR  DEAR  EDWARD 


THE    great    trouble    with    the    majority    of 
women  to-day  is  that  they  fail  to  recognise 
a  good  thing  when  they  see  it.    We  are  so 
very  liable  to  take  a  heart-flutter  for  a  brain-wave 
— a  fatal  mistake,  and  often  tragic  in  its  results  to 
our  happiness. 

There  are  many  feelings  that  cause  a  woman's 
heart  to  flutter,  which  the  inexperienced  will  put 
down  to  Love.  But  they  may  not  be  Love.  A 
woman's  heart  is  so  much  bigger  than  a  man's, 
and  consequently  capable  of  far  greater  flutters. 
In  a  woman's  heart  lie  Mother-love,  Mate-love, 
Friendship,  Passion,  and  Pity,  and  the  most 
subtle  of  these  is  Mother-love  and  Pity.  These 
two  occupy  a  great  portion  of  a  woman's  heart, 
and  are  apt  to  swell  up  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
usurp  the  whole.  These  heart-flutters  are  the 
greatest  assets  that  a  woman  possesses,  and  at 

II 


12  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

the  same  time  they  are  her  gravest  dangers.  It 
is  a  combination  of  Pity  and  Mother-love  that 
makes  a  good  woman  cast  her  pearls  before 
swine.  She  sees  some  weakling,  some  rotter  in 
trousers,  and  at  first  feels  sorry  for  such  a 
miserable  specimen  of  the  genus  homo.  In  her 
great  strength  she  towers  above  him,  and  knows 
it.  Then  Pity  plays  at  her  heartstrings — a  sad 
little,  soft  little  tune,  she  feels  that  she  would  like 
to  take  care  of  the  wretched  creature,  buck  him 
up,  and  make  a  man  of  him.  Then  the  soft  little, 
sad  little  tune  swells  into  a  great  melody  of 
Mother-love;  she  feels  that  she  would  like  to 
snuggle  this  poor  lost  atom  of  humanity,  watch 
over  it,  and  protect  it.  In  the  greatness  of  her 
heart  she  smiles  upon  this  unworthy  creature, 
and  her  pitiful  smiles  are  misconstrued  by  him 
into  meaning  admiration  I  He,  worm-like,  creeps 
to  her,  puts  his  head  on  her  knees,  and  licks  her 
hand.  And  she  strokes  his  hair,  and  perhaps 
cries  a  little. 

Then  before  anyone  knows  anything  about  it, 
or  ran  warn  her,  they  are  married. 

And  men  point  to  this  noble-heartea  woman, 
fit  mate  for  a  hero,  as  an  example  to  prove  their 
foolish  theory  that  good  women  invariably  marry 
rotters  or  roues.  Little  they  know  about  it ! 

If  the  woman  with  a  heart  is  fortunate  enough 
to  escape  the  dangers  of  premature  Mother-love 
and  Pity,  her  next  enemy  is  Passion,  but  most 
of  us  are  educated  into  concealing  if  not  smother- 
ing this  portion  of  our  heart.  If  it  does  appear 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  13 

it  only  peeps  out  from  under  lowered  lashes,  and 
a  mere  man  would  take  it  for  shyness,  or 
innocence,  or  something  else  equally  wide  of  the 
mark. 

Lucky  is  the  woman  who  learns  while  still  in  her 
teens  to  know  herself,  and  her  heart.  To  that 
woman  her  feelings  will  not  be  strange  flutterings 
but  familiar  spirits.  She  will  recognise  each  as  it 
puts  in  an  appearance,  and  give  to  each  its  allotted 
function  in  her  life.  Such  is  the  woman  who  will 
wait  for  her  soul  mate,  whether  that  waiting  means 
years  or  a  life  time,  and  she  it  is  who  will  give  all 
her  heart  to  the  one  man  who  is  the  missing  half  of 
her  circle.  Such  is  the  woman  who  will  hold  that 
man's  love  through  all  time  to  Eternity,  and  she  it 
is  who  will  regenerate  the  world.  Unfortunately 
most  of  us  are  either  ignorant  of  ourselves  or  tire 
so  soon  of  waiting. 


II 

I  WAS  seventeen  when  I  married  my  first  husband. 
He  was  a  soldier  man,  twenty  years  older  than 
myself,  tall,  strong,  with  a  fine  figure,  and  iron 
grey  hair  and  moustache  that  gave  him  a  most 
distinguished  appearance;  his  eyes  were  grey — 
the  most  trustworthy  colour  for  men's  eyes. 


14  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

In  those  days  we  were  living  al  Southsea. 
Father,  a  retired  Colonel  of  the  Indian  Army,  was 
of  the  old-fashioned  type,  a  regular  martinet. 
He  ruled  us  all,  including  mother,  with  a  rod  of 
iron.  He  was  a  very  handsome  man,  with  snow- 
white  hair,  and  greatly  respected  by  everyone — 
even  the  servants.  At  table  he  was  terrifying. 
With  the  carving  knife  in  one  hand  and  the  fork 
in  the  other  he  would  bang  the  board,  as  a 
preliminary  to  the  old-fashioned  grace:  "Thank 
God  for  what  we  are  about  to  receive,  Amen." 
Another  bang!  Then  the  meal  would  commence. 
And  what  a  meal  t  Except  mother,  who  was  more 
or  less  immune,  or  any  grown  up  friends  who 
happened  to  be  feeding  with  us,  no  one  was 
allowed  to  speak  unless  they  were  spoken  to. 
"  Children  must  be  seen  and  not  heard,"  was 
the  edict,  unalterable  as  any  law  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians — and  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  and 
I  was  the  eldest,  it  was  only  amended  after  I  was 
married!  Another  table  joke — equally  terrifying 
— was :  41  Those  who  ask  don't  get,  and  those  who 
don't  ask  don't  want."  This  combined  with  the 
former  produced  a  stilly  silence  from  us  children, 
an  occasional  growl  from  father,  a  few  sweet 
words  from  mother,  and  a  ceaseless  rattle  of 
knives  and  forks. 

Looking  back,  it  was  a  terrible  time  1 

A  late  Victorian  upbringing  was  ours :  the  boys 

— I  only  had  one  brother — packed  off  to  school  as 

soon    as    they    could    walk    properly,    the    girls 

brought  up  at  home  with  nurses,  governess,  and 


POOR    DEAR     EDWARD  15 

all  the  sanctity  of  seclusion.  We  girls — there 
were  four  of  us — literally  knew  nothing  of  our- 
selves, our  neighbours,  or  the  outside  world ;  and 
yet  I  suppose  we  were  what  is  commonly  termed 
accomplished. 

Incredible  though  it  may  seem,  my  first  long 
frock  was  my  wedding-dress,  and  I  only  put  my 
hair  up  after  I  was  engaged.  Until  I  was 
married  I  had  never  been  in  a  bus  or  tram,  and 
the  only  men  I  knew  were  my  father  and  brother. 

Were  we  discontented?  Certainly  not!  To  be 
discontented  one  must  think,  and  I  know  I  never 
thought,  merely  did  what  I  was  told  as  became 
a  daughter  of  a  long  line  of  soldiers.  With  us 
all,  mother  included,  father's  word  was  law,  and 
in  him  was  seated  all  authority.  I  don't  think 
any  of  us  loved  father — love  and  authority  don't 
amalgamate — but  we  respected  him  vastly. 
Mother  we  did  love.  She  was  the  sweetest, 
kindest,  gentlest  little  mother  imaginable;  "  little 
mother  *;  was  our  name  for  her.  Father  called 
her  "  Fluffy." 

To  this  day  I  don't  know  why  I  was  allowed 

to  play  chess  with  Major  M .     Perhaps  because 

he  was  an  old  friend  of  father's — he  had  been  a 
subaltern  in  the  regiment  father  commanded  in 
India — and  happened  to  be  very  fond  of  chess 
and  I  was  the  only  member  of  the  family  who 
could  play.  At  all  events  we  used  to  play  chess 
after  dinner.  He  was  an  extremely  courteous 
gentleman,  and  always  let  me  win ;  so  I  liked 
him.  And  he  was  most  interesting,  and  between 


16  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

games  he  would  tell  me  all  sorts  of  things  about 
foreign  countries  and  customs  and  the  frontier 
campaigns  in  which  he  had  served. 

Then  one  evening  he  quietly  took  my  hand, 
just  as  I  was  going  to  checkmate  him,  and  told 
me  very  gravely  and  very  kindly  that  he  loved 
me,  and  "  did  I  consider  him  too  old  for  a 
husband?"  I  was  absolutely  flabbergasted! 
It's  all  right  for  modern  young  women  to  sniff 
at  this  statement,  and  exclaim:  "Stuff  and 
nonsense!"  "Rubbish,"  or  its  equivalent  in 
modern  slang,  but  I  can  assure  you  that  I  hadn't 
the  slightest  idea  of  any  such  thing.  I  was 
flabbergasted,  as  I  say;  but  too  well  brought  up 
to  show  it.  So  I  merely  blushed  prettily  and 
mumbled  something  about :  greatly  honoured,  or 
so  sudden,  or  some  such  expression  that  I  had 
read  in  one  or  other  of  those  carefully  selected 
novels  which'  had  been  considered  necessary  to 
our  education. 

"  I  worship  the  ground  you  walk  on,"  was  his 
next  surprising  statement. 

'•'  How  sweet  of  you!  "  I  replied. 

"But  you  little  thing,  don't  you  understand? 
Don't  you  know  how  beautiful  you  are?  '*  He 
still  held  my  hand. 

Silly  fellow!  Of  course  I  knew  that  I  was 
beautiful.  I  was  just  wondering  what  in  the 
world  to  say,  when  much  to  my  relief  in  came 
father.  Poor  dear  Edward  dropped  my  hand  as 
if  it  had  been  a  hot  brick,  and  stood  up  at  full 
height — rather  red  about  the  ears.  Poor  dear  I 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  17 

thought  I,  now  won't  he  catch  it!  for  father's  face 
was  an  open  book  of  mingled  surprise  and  rage. 
"  I  have  this  moment  asked  your  daughter,  sir,'1 
he  said,  "  to  do  me  the  great  honour  of  becoming 
my  wife."  Wasn't  it  sweet  of  him  ? 

For  a  moment  father  looked  at  him  as  though 
he  considered  he  had  lost  his  reason.  Then  he 
turned  and  looked  at  me.  I  lowered  my  eyes 
bashfully  and  blushed.  When  I  looked  up  again 
he  was  still  looking  at  me.  Then  he  smiled,  took 
one  of  my  hands  in  his  and  patted  it.  "  Little 
monkey  I  "  he  said.  "  How  well  you  have  kept 
your  secret."  Then  he  took  one  of  poor  dear 
Edward's  hands  and  placed  mine  in  it,  with  a 
"  God  bless  you,  my  children,"  just  like  the  old 
novels  said  fathers  did.  I  know  now  that 
Edward's  hand  should  have  been  hot,  but  it 
wasn't;  it  was  icy  cold,  poor  fellow  I  With  that 
father  left  the  room. 


Ill 

IF  I  had  known  what  I  know  now  1  never  should 
have  married  Edward. 

So  soon  as  father  had  turned  his  back,  Edward 
dropped  my  hand  again.  When  the  door  closed 
he  stood  looking  very  grave  and  rather  white.  Then 
he  said  quietly:  "  I  know  you  don't  love  me  now, 


i8  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

how  could  you?    We  can  easily  get  out  of  it  if 
you  wish." 

"  Of  course  I  don't  love  you !  "  said  I,  stamping 
my  foot.  "  How  dare  you  mislead  father  into 
thinking  that  I  did  I  You  did  it  deliberately ;  you 
know  you  did  1  and  you  are  old — old  enough  to  be 
my  grandfather  I  How  dare  youl  How  dare 
you!  " 

He  looked  so  white  and  pathetic  and  old  as  he 
stood  there,  that  all  at  once  that  treacherous  Pity 
fluttered  in  my  heart  and  stayed  my  tongue.  I 
felt  suddenly  grown  up  and  complete  master  of  the 
situation.  Edward's  six  feet  of  solid  masculinity 
began  gradually  to  diminish  before  my  five  of 
femininity.  Critically  I  looked  him  all  over.  Poor 
fellow  1  anyone  could  see  that  he  needed  a  wife  to 
look  after  him;  and  he  did  not  look  at  all  well, 
rather  haggard  and  puckered  about  the  eyes;  he 
wanted  someone  to  feed  him  up  and  nurse  him. 

"  Shall  I  go  and  explain  the  position  to  your 
father?  "  he  asked. 

There  speaks  a  man,  thought  I.  Anyone  can  see 
that  he's  dying  for  love  of  me,  and  yet  he  is  willing 
to  give  me  up,  and  ready  to  beard  father. 

14  Do  you  love  me  very  much?  "  I  asked. 

"  Love  youl  you  beautiful  little  witch  I  Why 
I — I — life  won't  be  worth  living  without  you." 

He  came  nearer  and  made  to  seize  my  hand. 

We  resumed  our  game  of  chess — only  one  or  two 
of  the  pieces  had  been  moved — and  the  end  of  it 
was  that  I  decided  to  take  pity  on  Edward. 

That  evening  I  put  my  hair  up. 


POOR    DEAR     EDWARD  19 


IV 

OBVIOUSLY  I  did  not  love  Edward.  On  several 
occasions  I  very  nearly  broke  off  the  engagement. 
But  it  was  all  such  fun,  and  everyone  was  so 
pleased,  and  I  had  become  quite  an  important 
person,  and  Edward  was  so  kind  and  considerate 
and  docile,  that  I  thought  better  of  it.  Even  then 
it  was  Fate  that  helped  Edward,  for  I  am  quite 
certain  that  I  could  never  have  lasted  out  a  long 
engagement.  As  it  was  he  only  had  three  months 
more  leave.  Of  course  I  suggested  that  we  should 
be  engaged  and  perhaps  get  married  on  his  next 
leave.  Whereupon  he  pointed  out  that  he  would 
get  no  more  leave  for  five  years  and  that  by  that 
time  he  would  be  forty-two.  I  must  say  Edward 
never  cheated.  Forty-two  I  It  gave  me  quite  a  turn. 
But  again  Pity  and  Mother-love  came  to  his 
assistance.  If  he  was  old  and  thin  and  white  and 
haggard  and  grey  now,  what  would  he  be  then? 
At  that  moment  I  came  nearer  to  loving  Edward 
than  I  had  ever  done  before.  I  remember  I 
threw  my  arms  round  his  neck — he  was  sitting 
down  at  the  time — and  kissed  him — on  the  forehead. 
He  was  delighted,  poor  fellow  I 

The  engagement  opened  up  a  new  and  beautiful 
world  filled  with  pretty  frocks  and  all  sorts  of 
wonderful  presents.  Father  for  once  became  almost 


20  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

generous — I  think  mother  had  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  that — and  my  trousseau  was  lovely.  As  for 
Edward  he  brought  me  something  every  day;  he 
seemed  to  have  heaps  of  money,  which  was  nice 
I  thought.  One  evening  he  and  father  had  a  long 
discussion  in  the  study  about  settlements  and 
things,  and  the  next  morning  mother  told  me  that 
I  must  not  be  extravagant  as  Edward  was  a  poor 
man.  But  as  he  continued  to  bring  me  presents 
every  day  I  thought  that  mother  must  be  mistaken . 

Oh  I  I  forget  to  mention  one  thing  rather 
interesting;  it  was  when  we  went  to  choose  the 
engagement  ring.  With  an  air  of  great  solemnity 
Edward  took  me  one  afternoon  to  a  large  jeweller's 
in  the  Palmerston  Road,  and  the  man  brought  out 
tray  after  tray  of  the  duckiest  rings.  There  was 
one,  a  perfect  gem !  a  sapphire  and  diamond  hoop ; 
and  there  was  another  set  with  rubies  and^iiamonds. 
I  didn't  know  which  to  choose.  I  asked  Edward, 
and  he  didn't  seem  to  know  either.  The  shopman 
suggested  both.  So  we  took  the  two. 

I  often  think  what  a  little  beast  I  must  have  been 
in  those  days. 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  21 


ALL  too  soon  the  wedding  day  came  round.  It 
was  a  beautiful  spring  day — "  A  happy  augury," 
mother  said.  The  wedding  dress  was  simply 
scrumptuous,  and  I  looked  lovely  in'  it.  Helen, 
the  cook,  nearly  "  threw  a  fit  "  as  nurse,  who 
dressed  me,  said  proudly.  Of  course  I  was 
excited.  I  always  am  at  weddings;  I  suppose 
it  is  the  soldier  strain  in  me.  There  is  some- 
thing so — what  word  do  I  want — adventurous  about 
a  wedding,  a  feeling  of  setting  out  for  the 
Unknown j  something  like  Columbus  must  have 
felt  when  he  set  sail  for  America.  I  expect  it  is 
the  same  sort  of  feeling  that  made  little  England 
a  great  Empire. 

Father  gave  me  away.  He  did  it  very  nicely 
and  as  though  he  liked  it.  My  sisters  made 
charming  bridesmaids.  Edward  looked  splendid 
in  his  uniform — really  quite  handsome !  and  I  am 
sure  everyone  thought  I  was  a  very  lucky  girl. 
His  best  man  was  very  ugly.  I  suppose  that  I 
should  have  felt  nervous,  but  I  didn't.  I  never 
have  been  nervous  of  anything — at  least  not  of 
ordinary  normal  people  and  things.  Ed\vard 
was  nervous.  Not  that  he  showed  it  outwardly, 
but  I  could  feel  his  hand  trembling  when  he  took 
mine;  and  when  he  was  putting  on  the  ring  and 


22  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

found  it  rather  small  for  my  finger  he  became  so 
panicky  and  confused  that  I  had  to  put  it  on 
myself.  The  best  man  smiled — nasty  beast ! 
But  the  clergyman,  an  old  man  with  a  bald  head 
and  sympathetic  eyes,  was  very  kind  and  con- 
siderate. When  he  came  to  the  words  :  "  love, 
honour,  and  obey,"  he  mumbled  them  so  that  they 
were  unintelligible,  and  I  said  "  yes  "  with  an 
easy  conscience. 

After  the  service  everyone  kissed  each  other. 
I  kissed  all  Edward's  friends,  except  the  best  man 
— ugly  toad  I  and  Edward  manfully  kissed  all 
mine.  Gwen,  the  oldest  of  my  sisters,  must  have 
found  it  rather  nice,  for  she  whispered :  "  He's 
awfully  jolly!  You  are  a  lucky  girl." 

Then  came  the  reception  at  home.  Father  had 
certainly  spread  himself  and  champagne  corks 
were  popping  in  all  directions.  My  Uncle  Walter 
was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  party.  An  old  dear  !  a 
sort  of  socialist,  who  had  insisted  on  coming  in 
the  most  extraordinary  clothes.  I  remember  he 
had  a  bright  check  waistcoat  and  striped  flannel 
trousers  which  in  combination  with  an  ancient  frock 
coat  and  grey  top  hat  made  him  look  screamingly 
funny.  The  amount  of  champagne  he  drank  was 
awful  and  he  would  only  drink  the  tops  of  the 
bottles.  I  heard  the  head  butler,  or  whoever  he 
was,  hired  for  the  occasion,  whisper  to  father: 
1  Hexcuse  me,  sir,  but  that  there  funny  old  gent 
in  the  white  'at  is  hopening  a  wonnerful  lot  of 
bottles.  Hi  suppose  hits  hall  right?  "  I  didn't 
catch  what  father  said,  but  I  saw  what  he  looked. 


POOR    DEAR     EDWARD  23 

I  don't  know  what  happened  to  poor  dear 
Edward;  as  a  matter  of  fact  in  the  excitement  I 
forgot  all  about  him — it  was  my  first  grown  up 
party.  Perhaps  the  glass  of  champagne  which 
Uncle  Walter  made  me  take  made  things  look 
couleur  de  rose  for  me,  but  it  was  a  lovely 
reception  !  I  was  positively  mutinous  when  mother 
took  me  off  to  change. 

And  then  for  a  little  while  things  became  sad. 
Mother  tried  to  look  cheerful  as  she  helped  me  on 
with  my  travelling  dress  and  whispered  all  sorts 
of  advice  about  not  being  afraid;  that  Edward 
was  a  charming  gentleman ;  that  everything  would 
be  all  right ;  and  that  a  honeymoon  was  really  and 
truly  the  happiest  time  in  one's  whole  life.  And 
all  the  time  she  patted  me  and  kissed  me  and  looked 
as  if  she  were  telling  stories — mother  never  could 
tell  stories  with  any  semblance  of  truth. 

For  some  strange  reason  I  began  to  feel  nervous. 
I  felt  certain  that  mother  knew  something  that  I 
did  not.  "  Oh!  it's  going  to  be  awful  I  know," 
I  said.  "  I  shan't  go!  There's  plenty  of  time 
to  tell  Edward.  He  can  go  alone;  he  won't  mind 
really.  I  can't  leave  you,  mummy  darling." 

Then  mother  cried,  and  nurse  cried,  and  Helen — 
the  cook — cried,  and  everyone  cried,  and  I  cried. 
It  was  miserable  I 

A  loud  bang  on  the  door  brought  us  to  our 
senses,  and  father's  roar  of  expostulation :  that  the 
cab  was  at  the  door  and  that  we  were  keeping 
everyone  waiting,  produced  a  flutter  of  handker- 
chiefs. We  all  composed  ourselves,  and  dried 


24  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

each  other's  tears — at  least  I  dried  mother's  and 
she  mine.  I  think  nurse  dried  Helen's.  Father 
certainly  saved  the  situation. 

Downstairs  we  all  trooped,  through  the  hall, 
where  everyone  cheered  and  threw  confetti  and  rice. 
At  the  door  stood  Edward.  He  took  my  hand. 
Father  kissed  the  top  of  my  head,  mother  pecked 
me  on  the  cheek,  and  we  walked  down  the  steps. 
More  confetti,  more  rice,  more  cheers,  as  Edward 
handed  me  into  the  cab.  When  he  had  arranged 
the  carriage  rug  round  my  knees,  he  got  in.  The 
coachman  cracked  his  whip,  someone  threw  an 
old  slipper,  and  we  were  off.  My  first  honeymoon  ! 

"  Thank  God!  "  said  Edward  devoutly. 

Poor  dear  Edward  1  To  this  day  I  am  quite 
sure  that  he  thought  himself  a  very  lucky  man  in 
my  having  married  him.  Not  only  that,  but  I  am 
positive  that  were  he  alive  now  he  would  be  only 
too  delighted  to  make  me  a  fourth  instead  of  a 
first  husband. 


VI 

I  MUST  say  that  I  was  never  nervous  of  Edward. 
After  father — the  only  man  I  knew  except  my 
brother,  who  was  always  away  at  school — Edward 
was  such  a  delightful  change.  He  was  always 


POOR    DEAR     EDWARD  25 

so  kind  and  considerate  and  gentle;  always  put 
me  and  my  wishes  first.  There  is  always  some- 
thing rather  nice  at  first  in  feeling  important. 
After  five  minutes  of  married  life  I  knew  that  I 
was  his  master;  and  so  delighted  was  I  at  the 
discovery — that  this  huge  man-creature,  bigger 
than  my  own  father,  would  eat  out  of  my  hand — 
that  then  and  there  I  made  up  my  mind  to  make 
the  most  of  my  powers. 

In  the  cab  I  let  him  kiss  me  once.  He  wanted 
another  in  the  train,  so  I  called  the  guard,  made 
him  unlock  the  door,  and  offered  seats  in  our 
reserved  compartment  to  two  soldiers  who  couldn't 
find  a  seat  anywhere.  They  were  delighted,  poor 
fellows,  said  that  they  had  been  standing  up  for 
hours  and  fully  expected  to  stand  all  the  way  to 
Scotland.  Edward  was  not  pleased ;  not  that  he 
said  anything,  only  looked. 

We  spent  our  honeymoon  in  Scotland.  Edward 
had  planned  it  all  as  a  big  surprise.  He  had 
taken  rooms  at  an  awful  place  called  Inveruglas 
(I  don't  mind  mentioning  it  as  I  shall  most 
assuredly  never  go  back  there)  on  the  shores  of 
Loch  Lomond.  Besides  a  poky  sitting-room 
stuffed  with  china  dogs,  he  had  ordered  only  one 
bedroom.  I  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  it,  and 
he  seemed  quite  surprised.  Fortunately  the  land- 
lady had  another  for  Edward,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  house. 

I  stood  Inveruglas  for  a  week.  Seven  whole  days 
of  clambering  and  climbing  over  mountains  and 
rocks,  to  admire  the  same  lake  first  from  this 


26  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

angle  and  then  from  that.  Naturally  I  got  tired 
of  the  view;  and  I  have  never  been  very  fond  of 
views.  I  prefer  people.  Then  again  Edward, 
poor  dear,  was  beginning  to  get  just  a  little  boring 
— always  begging  to  be  allowed  to  kiss  me  when 
I  didn't  want  him  to.  But  the  most  painfully 
unpleasant  part  of  the  whole  business  were  my 
boots;  they  were  emphatically  not  built  for 
mountaineering.  I  always  did  hate  hob-nailed 
boots! 

I  suppose  that  if  only  I  had  told  Edward  about  my 
poor  feet  he  would  not  have  been  so  disappointed, 
poor  fellow  I  But  one  never  knows  these  things 
until  afterwards,  when  it  is  too  late. 

The  remainder  of  our  honeymoon  we  spent  in 
Edinburgh.  And  Edward  was  so  kind,  and 
patient,  and  gentle  with  me;  and  so  generous; 
that  after  a  time  I  let  him  sleep  in  the  dressing- 
room,  which  opened  from  my  room.  But  I  made 
him  go  to  bed  first,  and  then  locked  him  in. 


VII 

MEN — unmarried  men — usually  imagine  that  all 
women  are  born-daughters,  born-wives,  born- 
housewives,  born-mothers,  and,  if  they  live  long 
enough,  born-grandmothers.  When  they  dis- 


POOR    DEAR     EDWARD  27 

cover  that  this  isn't  so,  they  invariably  pretend  to 
be  shocked,  sometimes  horribly  scandalised.  If 
the  woman  is  pretty  and  illusive,  she  is  forgiven. 
If  she  is  ugly  and  at  hand,  she  may  even  be 
beaten.  In  all  of  which  the  husband  is  quite 
justified  I  think;  for  it  must  be  simply  wretched 
for  the  man  who  marries  for  a  home  to  find  that 
his  wife  can't  manage  one — and  with  hotels  so 
expensive  I  Then  again  it  must  be  frightfully 
annoying  to  marry  because  one  loves  children, 
and  then  to  have  to  adopt  one. 

Of  course  Edward  married  jne  for  myself,  but 
so  many  men  have  ulterior  motives  well  at  the 
back  of  their  minds  when  they  marry.  Although 
married  to  Edward  I  did  not  consider  that  I 
owed  him  any  duty — except  just  to  look  pretty, 
dress  nicely,  and  see  that  he  did  the  same.  I  had 
married  him  for  Pity,  pity  for  his  grey  hairs,  and 
I  was  quite  ready  to  give  him  tons  of  Pity.  But 
he  wanted  more,  expected  more;  I  soon  saw  that. 
After  a  time  he  began  to  get  peaky;  and  yet  he 
had  plenty  to  eat,  for  I  ordered  the  meals.  I 
thought  that  perhaps  he  might  be  thirsty — father 
was,  so  I  allowed  him  three  whiskies  and  sodas 
a  clay.  Still  he  looked  unsatisfied. 

"  Edward,  you're  not  eating  enough,"  I  said 
to  him  one  day  after  dinner.  "  Poor  darling, 
you're  getting  absolutely  emaciated!  •' 

11  It  isn't  that  I  "  said  Edward,  rather  bitterly 
I  thought. 

"  What  is  it  then?  Anything  that  I've 
done?" 


28  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"It's — oh  I  you  little  provocative  creature — it's 
you  I  want." 

"  Haven't  you  got  me?  " 

"  Got  you?  Good  God!  I've  only  touched  the 
hem  of  your  dress." 

"  There  are  heaps  of  men  in  this  very  hotel 
who  would  dearly  love  to  have  a  chance  to  do 
that  I  " 

"I  know;  I'm  a  deuced  lucky  fellow!  But 
somehow — -" 

"  You  may  kiss  me,  Edward,"  said  I. 
1  •  Once."  He  looked  too  pathetic  for  words,  poor 
dear  Edward! 

I  was  tired  that  evening,  and  my  head  ached 
rather,  so  I  went  to  bed  early.  Edward  was  fear- 
fully worried,  and  wanted  to  bring  me  up  smelling 
salts,  brandy,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  This  he 
whispered  through  the  keyhole.  But  I  told  him 
to  go  away.  I  felt  strange.  I  wanted  to  think 
things  over. 

In  these  emancipated  days  girls  know  much 
more  than  ever  we  used  to  know.  A  very  good 
thing  too,  I  think.  When  I  married  Edward  1 
literally  knew  nothing.  Neither  I,  nor  my  sisters, 
had  any  reason  to  doubt  that  the  doctor  brought 
the  babies  in  his  bag.  Father  slept  in  his 
dressing-room.  All  our  books  were  carefully 
chosen  for  us.  We  only  went  to  those  plays  that 
father  decided  were  "  quite  harmless."  All  our 
lives  we  were  protected  from  the  world  outside, 
from  ourselves.  So  far  as  I  was  concerned,  men 


29 

and  women  were  different  only  in  their  clothes 
and  habits.  A  man  was  strong,  a  woman  weak. 
A  man's  appointed  task  was  to  rule,  a  woman's 
to  obey.  A  man  signed  cheques,  which  a  woman 
spent.  A  man's  purpose  in  life  was  to  protect 
his  womenfolk.  A  woman's  to  be  protected  in  as 
charming  a  manner  as  possible.  A  man  was  the 
authority  to  which  all  women  must  bow  the  head. 

Now  children  dislike  authority ;  it  never  comes 
natural  to  them.  They  may  be  broken  to 
authority,  but  the  time  will  come  when  they  will 
break  out  or  burst.  Everyone  loves  freedom,  and 
I  think  that  freedom  was  meant  for  everyone. 

I  had  had  seventeen  years  of  father;  and  I  had 
no  intention  of  handing  over  father's  authority 
to  Edward  without  a  struggle.  Edward  sur- 
rendered in  five  minutes.  Victory  Number  One. 

As  Edward  was  not  father,  and  as  Edward  asked 
nicely  and  did  not  order,  was  he  entitled  to  receive? 

Of  course  the  crux  of  the  situation  was  the 
dressing-room.  I  could  see  that.  Father  slept 
in  mother's  dressing-room*,  or  rather  his  own. 
But  Edward  was  not  father.  Edward  hated  the 
dressing-room,  said  he  couldn't  sleep.  It  looked 
a  nice  enough  little  room  to  me.  If  I  told  Edward 
to  stay  there  till  doomsday  he  would  stay — of 
course  he  would  stay,  being  Edward.  But  I 
couldn't  command  him  to  sleep.  Perhaps  he  was 
lonely?  Eileen — my  youngest  sister — never  would 
sleep  by  herself.  Why  hadn't  I  thought  of 
asking  him?  I  would  ask  him.  I  could  hear  him 
outside. 


30  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"  Edward!  "  I  called. 

"  Yes,  darling?  " 

"Are  you  lonely  in   the  dressing-room?" 

He  let  out  an  awful  sound  like  a  hollow  groan. 

"  Why  don't  you  answer?  " 

"  Open  the  door,  and  I'll  tell  you." 

"Tell  me  from  there ;  I  can  hear  you  quite 
clearly." 

"  I  can't!    There  are  people  walking  about." 

"  Bother  the  people.     Are  you?  " 

"Well,  yes!" 

"  Poor,old  fellow!  " 

"  Open  the  door,  darling?  " — in  a  whisper. 

"No;  I'm  not  lonely.  I've  been  thinking: 
would  you  get  that  nice  Captain  Woodhead  to 
share  a  room  with  you?  " 

"You  little  devil i" 

"  Edward!  is  that  you  speaking?  " 

"  You  know  it  is." 

"  Then  go  away,  and  calm  yourself." 

If  Edward  had  not  been  so  dictatorial  I  might 
have  put  on  my  dressing-gown  and  let  him  come 
through  to  his  dressing-room.  But  he  sounded 
mutinous,  and  I  could  not  afford  a  mutiny  so  soon. 
For  ages  I  could  hear  him  prowling  about  outside. 
He  knocked  several  times;  I  snored  loudly. 
Presently  I  fell  asleep. 

Edward  was  the  most  provokingly  patient  man 
that  I  have  ever  known.  He  was  still  there  when  I 
woke  up  next  morning. 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  31 


VIII 

IN  comparison  with  a  modern  liner  the  "  Alligator  " 
was  a  fearful  old  tub,  although  naturally  I  didn't 
know  that  at  the  time.  But  I  did  think  that  they 
might  have  had  dressing-rooms.  If  I  had  known 
we  should  never  have  gone  by  that  boat,  at  least 
I  shouldn't;  but  Edward  never  told  me  a  word 
about  it.  When  I  did  find  out  I  was  furious,  and 
sent  him  to  the  Purser  to  get  another  cabin. 
There  wasn't  another.  So — well  it  had  to  be,  I 
quite  realise  that  now.  Mothers  should  tell  their 
daughters  these  things;  I  believe  they  do  nowa- 
days. All  this  foolish  humbug  and  hypocrisy, 
and  false  modesty,  is  loathsome!  It's  enough  to 
make  a  girl  hate  her  husband.  If  it  had  been 
any  other  man  but  Edward  I  should  have  loathed 
and  left  him,  I  know — ship  or  no  ship ;  but  Edward 
was  the  soul  of  kindness  and  gentleness  and 
chivalry. 

I  wish  I  could  have  loved  Edward — if  only  for 
his  patience  and  tenderness  to  me.  I  tried  hard, 
so  hard,  to  love  him.  But  one  can't  compel  Love; 
it  just  comes.  Real  love  is  such  a  rare  thing. 
How  many  of  us,  alas,  are  incapable  of  feeling 
love;  something  wrong  in  our  make  up  I  expect. 
I  know  that  I  have  never  yet  been  properly  in  love. 
Three  times  married  and  never  in  love:  what  an 


32  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

awful  revelation,  isn't  it?  Somehow  I  know  that 
love,  real  love,  is  bigger  than  a  mere  woman  or 
man :  that  Love  is  only  for  the  big — and  I  am  so 
small,  five  feet  one,  no  more! 

Of  course  I  have  fancied  myself  in  love 
hundreds  of  times.  Who  hasn't? 

The  voyage  was  delightful.  I  had  never  been 
so  far  afield  before,  merely  to  the  Continent,  and 
everything  was  wonderful  with  the  glamour  of 
newness.  I  love  novelty.  After  passing  Gib  we 
had  dances  and  concerts  every  night.  There 
were  very  few  women  on  board,  and  of  these  the 
majority  were  old  and  yellow  and  ugly — the  Indian 
climate  is  awfully  trying  to  one's  complexion ;  and 
there  were  no  brides  to  be  on  the  boat;  and  I 
was  the  only  bride.  Neither  was  I  ugly,  nor 
yellow,  nor  old.  Besides,  I  had  some  dreams  of 
frocks.  Then  again  I  had  a  voice  (soprano),  the 
one  thing  of  mine  that  father  had  cultivated 
properly.  There  were  crowds  of  men  on  board, 
mostly  officers  going  back  to  their  regiments. 
Many  of  them  were  young;  most  of  them 
liked  me. 

Now  I  like  being  liked — most  women  do.  Those 
who  say  that  they  don't,  say  so  because  they 
aren't  liked — at  least  not  by  men.  I  like  having 
nice  things  said  to  me.  I  don't  care  a  rap  what 
people  say  behind  my  back ;  I  know  no  man 
would  say  nasty  things  behind  my  back,  he 
would  be  too  busy  looking  at  my  figure  and 
ankles.  If  some  kind  woman  friend  tells  me,  in 
strict  confidence,  something  nasty  that  some  man 


POOR    DEAR     EDWARD  33 

has  said  about  me,  I  put  it  down  to  the  woman's 
account.  Somehow  I  don't  like  women;  they  are 
so  "  catty."  Men  are  never  catty.  I  am  not 
saying  this  because  I  am  a  woman — and  therefore 
catty  myself — but  because  it  is  so.  There  are  some 
women  who  are  not  cats;  I  know  that  now.  But 
they,  are  women  who  work,  who  do  things,  who 
haven't  time  to  be  catty.  Cattyness  I  have  dis- 
covered comes  from  having  nothing  to  do.  If  men 
were  brought  up  like  women  they  would  be  catty. 
A  cat  is  always  a  pampered  creature  who  purrs 
at  someone  else's  fireside,  and  spits  when  it  is 
moved.  A  cat  is  the  only  animal  I  know  that 
doesn't  work.  Men  always  have  things  to  do.  I 
don't  mean  that  they  all  work;  but  they  do  things. 
They  hunt,  or  shoot,  or  play  polo,  or  have  a 
profession,  or  make  money,  or  something.  The 
majority  of  men  are  producers,  while  women  have, 
for  ages  and  ages,  been  consumers  and  parasites. 
I  am  a  consumer,  and,  I  suppose,  a  parasite;  I 
was  taught  to  be  from  earliest  infancy.  Now, 
thinking  things  over,  I  would  love  to  do  things, 
useful  things,  but  I  don't  know  how,  and  have 
no  intention  of  learning  at  my  time  of  life.  I  have 
produced  five  children — that  is  something — my 
one  consolation.  Some  women  haven't  even  done 
that. 

Another  thing  I  like  about  men :  they  have  a 
sense  of  Duty — taught  then*  no  doubt  at  school; 
and  they  have,  or  used  to  have  until  we  threw  it 
back  at  them,  a  sense  of  chivalry.  Men,  all  men, 
always  were  chivalrous,  until  women  began  to 
C 


34 

wear  trousers.  A  man  can't  be  chivalrous  to 
trousers;  it  isn't  in  his  nature;  I  couldn't  be  if 
I  were  a  man.  Men  are  only  chivalrous  to  women 
because  they  consider  them  weaker  than  them- 
selves; and  the  wise  woman  who  likes  men  to  be 
chivalrous  to  her  must  make  out  that  she  is  weak, 
even  if  she  knows  that  she  isn't.  Even  to-day 
with  all  these  crowds  in  London,  packed  tubes 
and  underground,  crammed  busses  and  trams, 
impossible  taxis,  equality  of  sexes,  and  so  on,  I 
have  never  suffered.  If  I  want  to  catch  a  bus — 
and  I  often  go  in  a  bus — I  don't  push  and  jostle — 
it  wouldn't  be  much  good  if  I  did.  I  simply  look 
pretty,  and  frail,  and  a  little  tired.  I  may  even 
whisper — quite  loudly — something  about:  "Oh! 
what  a  crowd,  I  shall  never  get  home."  The  rest 
I  leave  to  the  men ;  and  men  have  never  failed  me. 
Then  again,  I  always  thank  them  sweetly  and 
smile.  A  working  man  in  corduroys,  with  a  clay 
pipe,  once  made  a  passage  for  me.  I  gave  him, 
not  a  copper,  but  the  Flor  de  Dijon  someone 
had  given  me — a  man  of  course.  He  put  it  in 
his  buttonhole:  and  I  heard  him  say  to  the  con- 
ductor: "  That's  what  I  calls  a  real  lidy !  "  That 
man  knew.  People  who  work  can  always  be 
relied  upon  to  distinguish  true  from  false.  I 
like  working  people — men  especially — because, 
I  suppose,  I  have  never  worked.  The  British 
working  man  has  an  unerring  eye  for  what  he 
calls  the  "  real  gentry  ";  what  he  hates,  and  I 
am  with  him  heart  and  soul,  is  the  pseudo- 
gentry.  The  pseudo-gentry  pay  for  everything  in 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  35 

money.  We  don't.  We  put  ourselves  in  that 
man's  place — for  the  merest  moment  of  course — 
and  think:  "  Now  what  would  we  like?  What 
would  we  appreciate  if  we  were  that  man?  "  So 
we  give  him  a  whisky  and  soda,  or  a  flower,  or  a 
handshake,  or  a  smile. 

Of  course  chivalry  is  dying  fast,  poor  thing  !  It 
seems  sad  to  see  it  passing  away,  for  it  is  so 
pleasant.  But  I  suppose  that  it  is  all  for  the 
best;  everything  always  is.  Presently,  when  the 
millenium  takes  place — not  in  my  time  I  am  afraid 
—women  and  men  will  learn,  equally,  to  be 
chivalrous  to  the  young  and  the  old  and  to  all 
things  weaker  than  themselves. 

Personally,  as  I  say,  I  like  men  to  be  chivalrous 
to  me.  And  so  I  am  weak — oh !  such  a  frail, 
flimsy,  little  golden-haired  thing!  Not  one  grey 
hair  yet;  not  the  teeniest  little  crowsfoot  of  a 
wrinkle!  Massage,  my  sisters;  and  vaseline. 
And  my  figure;  as  trim  and  neat  as  a  schoolgirl's! 
Physical  exercises — not  too  strenuous.  And — 
hush  ! — I  am  a  grandmother !  and  have  had  five 
children.  I  think  I  mentioned  that  before;  I  am 
rather  proud  of  it.  My  age?  Well  really  it 
isn't  so  very  much,  and  only  last  week  I  was 
taken  for  my  youngest  son's  fiancee. 

But  I  was  on  the  boat  going  East  with  Edward, 
wasn't  I  ?  Poor  dear  Edward  !  he  seems  to  have 
got  lost. 


36  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


IX 

TRAVELLERS  to  the  East  have  a  saying — it  was  told 
me  by  a  rosy-cheeked  subaltern — that  all  prayer- 
books  and  bibles  go  overboard  in  the  Suez  Canal. 
This  is  true,  I  think,  for  I  never  saw  any. 

It  was  baking  hot  in  the  Canal !  Nothing  but 
blue  and  yellow  to  dazzle  the  eye:  yellow  sun, 
yellow  sand;  blue  water,  blue  .sky.  The  old 
"  Alligator  "  actually  sizzled,  and  everyone  on 
board  looked  hot — except  myself.  I  hate  looking 
hot.  Women  should  never  look  hot,  whatever  men 
do.  There  is  no  need  for  it,  when  papier 
poudre  is  so  cheap.  From  earliest  infancy  I  have 
hated  the  appearance  of  heat.  One  should  never 
look  what  one  feels — at  least  a  woman  mustn't. 
The  wise  woman  never  looks  what  she  feels.  If 
you  see  a  woman  obviously  flirting  with  a  man, 
everything  is  all  right.  It  is  when  the  woman 
appears  in  public  to  dislike  a  man  that  her  husband 
has  cause  for  jealousy. 

Edward,  being  a  man,  was  always  jealous  at  the 
wrong  times.  This  infuriated  me,  for  I  liked 
Edward,  and  respected  quite  a  lot  of  him,  and  I 
didn't  like  him  to  make  such  silly  mistakes.  Of 
course  I  didn't  correct  his  mistakes;  that  would 
have  spoilt  the  fun. 

There  was  a  lot  of  flirting — quite   harmless — 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  37 

going  on,  and  I  was  usually  a  party  to  it,  as  I 
am  a  good  sailor.  There  was  a  Colonel  of  Sappers, 
quite  a  good  flirt,  and  completely  harmless.  He 
was  rather  bald,  with  pinkish  eyes — rather  rabbity, 
and  a  white  moustache.  He  was  most  attentive — 
when  he  got  the  chance — and  quite  amusing.  I 
liked  him;  he  was  so  clever  at  inventing  pretty 
speeches;  I  suppose  that  was  why  he  had  done  so 
well  in  the  Engineers.  Edward  hated  him. 

Now  there  is  one  word  of  warning  that  I  must 
write  here  for  the  benefit  of  young  wives :  "  Never 
flirt  with  a  man  between  the  ages  of  thirty  and 
forty-five.  That  is  the  dangerous  age  with  men — 
the  serious  age.  If  you  must  flirt,  always  choose 
a  boy — the  younger  the  better,  but  they  usually 
prefer  widows — or  a  man  over  forty-five.  Really 
old  men  are  all  right  to  buy  one  things  and  are  easily 
satisfied,  quite  inoffensive;  but  so  dreadfully 
tiring ! 

Colonel  S was  forty-eight — so  he  said.    He 

looked  quite  that. 

When  the  heat  became  really  hot,  in  those  days 
it  was  the  fashion  for  the  men  to  emerge  at  night- 
fall from  their  cabins  with  mattress  and  pillow  and 
sleep  on  deck.  Women,  whatever  they  looked, 
were  not  supposed  to  feel  the  heat — and  oh  1  how 
hot  some  of  those  poor  yellow  creatures  did  look. 
Consequently  they  were  not  supposed  to  sleep  on 
deck. 

Edward  held  out  manfully,  but  at  last  our  cabin 
became  so  appallingly  close  that  he  too  went  on 
deck  to  sleep.  The  first  night  he  sneaked  out  so 


38  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

quietly  that  I  didn't  hear  him.  The  next  night 
I  did. 

"  Edward!  "  said  I.  "  Where  are  you  going 
may  I  ask?  "  I  didn't  know  about  this  deck 
business  then. 

"  To  get  a  breath  of  air,"  said  Edward. 

11  And  why  that  pillow,  and  that— what  have  you 
got  there — turn  on  the  light,  Edward — a  mattress ! 
I  do  believe  you're  going  to  sleep  somewhere 
else!  " 

And  then  Edward  explained  all  about  the  deck, 
and  how  nice  and  cool  it  was. 

"  All  right,  I'll  come  too,"  said  I.  "  Take  two 
pillows,  Edward,  and  two  mattresses." 

"You  can't!"  said  Edward,  positively,  and 
looking  shocked. 

"  And  who  says  so,  may  I  ask?  " 

"  It's  a  rule  of  the  ship." 

"  Rules  were  made  to  be  broken,"  said  I.  And 
I  slipped  into  my  dressing-gown — a  perfect  duck 
of  a  thing,  all  fichus  and  real  lace. 

"  Darling,  it  isn't  the  thing,"  said  Edward. 
"  Besides,  there  are  crowds  of  men  up  there." 

"  I  believe  you  are  ashamed  of  me,"  I  said. 

I  went.  Edward,  with  the  mattresses  and  pillows, 
led  the  way.  He  didn't  like  it — much — I  could  see, 
but  he  was  a  soldier  and  nicely  trained  to  obedience. 

We  crept  up  the  companion,  into  the  saloon, 
and  out  on  to  the  deck.  All  over  the  place 
pyjamad  figures  were  sprawling  and  snoring. 
Luckily  most  of  them  seemed  well  asleep. 

Edward  chose  a  nice  comfy  place  under  a  boat 


POOR    DEAR     EDWARD  39 

and  spread  the  mattresses ;  and  I  slept  beautifully. 
It  was  lovely  and  cool  after  the  awful  cabin.  I 
don't  know  what  Edward  did. 

In  the  early  morning  Edward  woke  me.  He 
looked  frightfully  worried. 

11  Get  up,  darling,"  h<5  said.  "  The  deck  hands 
are  beginning  to  stir." 

"  What  time  is  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  Three  o'clock,"  said  Edward.  He  was  always 
a  most  truthful  man. 

44  Edward,  you're  a  monster!'  Do  you  really 
imagine  that  /  am  going  to  get  up  at  three 
o'clock?  "  And  I  turned  over  to  go  to  sleep 
again. 

Edward  positively  pranced  with  rage. 
4  There's  a  man  coming  up  now,"  he  said. 

"  He  won't  bite — me." 

It  was  only  a  sailor,  who  saluted  Edward,  and 
went  about  his  business. 

"  He  never  even  saw  me,"  I  said. 

Edward  snorted. 

I  went  to  sleep  again.  I  hadn't  slept  so  well  for 
nights. 

Again  Edward  woke  me. 

44  What  now?  "  I  asked. 
4  You've  got  to  get  up,"  he  said  sternly. 

"  What  time  is  it— now?  " 

"  Five  o'clock." 

44  Edward,  you're  a  beast!  " 

44  Oh  Lord !  Oh  Lord !  "  said  Edward.  4<  There's 
that  old  brute — corning  now " 

I  opened  an  eye  and  looked.     It  was  Colonel 


40  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

S staggering   along    with    his   mattress   and 

pillow,  in  bare  feet,  and  dressed  in  a  voluminous 
nightdress,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  a 
mediaeval  monk.  I  laughed — I  couldn't  help  it, 
he  looked  so  irresistible.  He  saw  me.  For  a 
moment  I  thought  he  was  going  to  jump  overboard, 
mattress  and  all.  Then  he  thought  better  of  it, 
and  bowed. 

"  Why  don't  you  wear  pyjamas  like  Edward?  ' 
I  asked  pleasantly. 

Edward  was  awfully  pleased.     As  for  Colonel 

S for  two  days  he  actually  avoided  me.       I 

never  slept  on  deck  again ;  for  one  thing  the  weather 
changed,  and  for  another,  well,  clothes  do  make 
such  a  difference  to  men. 


As  this  is  not  a  diary  of  my  life,  but  an  epitaph 
to  my  three  husbands,  I  must  skip  a  great  many 
things  that  do  not  concern  them. 

The  voyage  ended,  as  the  most  delightful  of 
voyages  must.  Everyone  sighed  and  shook  hands, 
and  some  looked  a  little  sad,  but  all  eventually 
went  about  their  business;  and  I  was  left  alone 
in  India  with  Edward :  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land. 


POOR    DEAR     EDWARD  41 

India,  in  those  days,  was  fascinating.  To-day 
it  is  simply  disgusting.  In  those  days  Englishmen 
in  India  were  always  gentlemen — they  couldn't 
have  ruled  India  if  they  hadn't  been.  Uncivilised 
people  are  like  unspoilt  children,  and  are  wise  with 
all  the  subtlety  of  children ;  it  is  quite  useless  trying 
to  deceive  them.  They  have  an  uncanny  instinct 
in  piercing  the  best  of  disguises,  in  looking  direct 
into  the  heart  of  things  and  people.  Only  civilised, 
educated  people  are  ever  deceived  by  outward 
appearances.  That  is  the  reason  why  English 
women  in  India  always  used — after  a  while — to 
dispense  with  disguises,  thereby  laying  themselves 
open  to  the  nimble  wits  of  Mr  Kipling  and  other 
lesser  lights  of  the  ink  world.  No  man  knows 
his  wife.  Every  child  knows  its  mother.  The 
uneducated  Indian  can,  with  unerring  instinct, 
recognise  and  respect  a  person— man  or  woman — 
who  is  of  gentle  birth  and  reared  in  a  gentle 
atmosphere.  Not  so  the  educated  Indian.  Our 
Government,  or  whoever  sends  men  out  to  Ictdia, 
is  surprisingly  shrewd  in  their  choice  these  days. 

As  wives  and  daughters  of  gentlemen,  English 
women  willy-nilly  had  to  be  gentle  in  those  days. 
One  quickly  learnt  the  reason  and  necessity  for 
the  colour  line.  I  learnt  very  quickly  in  Bombay. 
One  day  I  was  walking  with  Edward  when  I  was 
struck  by  the  handsome  appearance  of  a  native — 
he  did  look  splendid  in  all  his  Eastern  finery,  and 
I  said  as  much  to  Edward.  I  don't  know  whether ' 
the  man  heard  me  or  not,  but  as  he  passed  he 
ogled  in  a  disgusting  way.  Edward  promptly 


42  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

knocked  him  down  and  then  kicked  him  up. 
"  Brute!  "  he  exclaimed  when  he  had  finished. 
"  A  by-product  of  education." 

Now  ignorant  as  I  was  of  the  customs  of  the 
country,  I  realised  that  the  man  must  have  done 
something  very  terrible  for  Edward  to  have  done 
what  he  did.  I  watched  how  Edward  treated  the 
natives;  and  as  his  treatment  seemed  to  agree  with 
them,  I  followed  suit. 

Those  were  the  days  when  the  Indian  Govern- 
ment knew  how  to  govern — India.  I  remember 
once  that  because  the  frontispiece  of  a  London 
illustrated  paper  depicted  one  of  our  Royalties — 
a  Princess — standing  beside  some  Indian  Rajah 
that  particular  page  was  removed  before  its 
circulation  in  India  was  permitted.  In  those  days 
white  women  were  respected.  If  they  were  not 
respectable  they  were  politely  requested  to  leave  the 
country.  In  those  days  our  menfolk  were  fit  to 
govern,  and  we  did  our  little  best  to  make  them 
fitting  mates. 

When  first  I  started  housekeeping  I  found  things 
rather  difficult  and  very  new.  One  had  so  many 
servants,  who  knew  that  one  was  new.  Naturally 
they  tried  to  take  advantage.  One  day  one  of  the 
johnpanies,  a  huge  creature,  said  something  as 
I  got  into  my  rickshaw  that  made  the  others  smile. 
I  didn't  know  what  he  had  said,  but  he  looked 
cheeky.  Edward  was  indoors.  So  I  jumped  out, 
and  kicked  him  all  the  way  down  the  street.  I  was 
quite  cool.  There  was  rather  a  commotion,  and 
Edward  came  running  out  with  an  awful  look  in 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  43 

his  eye.     When  he  saw  what  was  happening,  he 
stopped,  and  waited  for  me  to  finish. 

I  have  shot  tigers  on  foot,  with  Edward,  and  have 
had  all  sorts  of  hair-raising  adventures,  but  never 
did  Edward  look  so  proud  of  me  as  when  I  kicked 
that  wretched  johnpany.  And  all  the  time  I  was 
thinking  how  unpleasantly  hot  I  must  have  looked. 


XI 

IN*  the  light  of  experience  I  know  now  exactly  what 
was  the  matter  with  Edward. 

He  was  essentially  a  good  man — quite  the  best 
of  my  husbands  in  goodness.  By  good  I  don't 
mean  goody-goody.  Nothing  namby-pamby  or 
psalm-singing  about  Edward.  But  he  was  good. 
He  had  decent  views  about  things.  His  taste  in 
people,  in  customs,  in  clothes,  in  music,  in  books 
was  good.  There  was  nothing  effete,  morbid,  nor 
unpleasant  in  his  make  up.  He  did  not  tell  lies; 
and  yet  he  could  forgive  other  people  for  telling 
them.  I  remember  when  he  once  found  me  out  in 
a  little  story — a  harmless  little  white  lie.  I  quite 
expected  him  to  be  angry  or  disgusted,  but  he  said 
nothing,  only  looked  sad.  After  that  I  told  him 
no  more  stories.  Edward  believed  firmly  in  God — 
a  thing  I  was  never  able  to  do  consistently  in  those 


44  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

days.  He  said  his  prayers  as  if  he  meant  them. 
Not  only  that  but  he  loved  God.  I  liked  Edward 
to  love  God  so  long  as  he  loved  me  best.  I  think 
he  did.  He  was  a  splendid  soldier,  very  brave, 
very  loyal,  and  his  black  men  were  devoted  to  him. 
But  he  was  jealous,  fearfully  jealous  about  me. 

Now  jealousy  is  often  regarded  as  a  symptom  of 
Love.  I  used  to  think  it  was  part  and  parcel  of 
Love,  and  I  dearly  delighted  in  making  Edward 
jealous.  A  jealous  man  is  always  guessing.  He 
never  knows  for  certain  whether  one  loves  him 
really  or  not.  It  is  a  great  mistake  to  let  a  man 
know  that  you  love  him.  In  the  first  place  it  will 
make  him  conceited;  in  the  second  he  will  think 
less  of  you.  A  wife's  duty  to  herself  and  her 
husband  is  essentially  to  make  him  love  her;  to 
do  so,  however  much  she  may  love  him,  she  must 
only  very  occasionally  let  him  catch  a  glimpse — a 
mere  soupfon—of  her  feelings. 

Most  devoted  wives  make  fools  of  themselves  in 
their  husbands'  eyes.  The  woman  who  throws  her 
heart  at  a  man's  feet  is  bound  to  get  it  trodden  on. 
Men  are  such  clumsy  creatures.  Hearts  were  not 
made  for  footstools — at  least  not  women's  hearts. 
No  decent  woman  would  tread  on  a  man's  heart, 
however  often  he  laid  it  at  her  feet.  She  might, 
probably  would,  poke  it  with  an  inquisitive  toe  to 
see  if  it  really  was  a  heart.  She  might,  and 
frequently  does, -walk  away  and  leave  it.  Again, 
she  might  go  down  after  it  into  the  deepest  mud; 
women  have  been  known  to  do  that.  She  might 
pick  it  up  and  put  it  in  her  pocket,  or  she  might 


45 

wrap  it  up  carefully  and  place  it  in  her  bosom,  next 
her  heart.  All  these  things  are  possible.  But  to 
jazz  on  a  man's  heart  is  unpardonable!  an 
infallible  indication  of  ill  breeding. 

The  right  place  for  a  woman's  heart  is  behind 
her  eyes  and  close  to  her  brain.  No  woman  is  born 
heartless,  whatever  men  may  say  to  the  contrary. 
If  they  appear  so  it  merely  proves  that  appearances 
are  deceptive.  Many  men  have  called  me  heart- 
less, when  the  real  trouble  with  me  was  that  my 
heart  was  too  big.  A  big  heart  needs  a  big  brain 
to  control  it ;  and  in  those  days  my  brain  was  rather 
addled  by  admiration.  At  least  I  am  honest. 

I  love  admiration,  always  have,  and  I  suppose 
always  will.  There  was  a  time,  oh !  what  a  child 
I  was,  when  I  took  other  things  :  curiosity,  friendly 
interest,  charity,  even  physical  attraction,  for 
admiration.  In  those  days  my  poor  little  mite  of 
a  brain  was — as  I  say — addled.  I  used  to  think 
that  men  disliked  brains.  I  imagined  that  the 
only  things  that  interested  men  were  the  things 
that  interested  me.  Beauty,  a  nice  figure,  pretty 
frocks,  jewels,  dances,  tea  parties,  tennis,  polo, 
I  adored ;  and  I  thought  that  men  adored  them  too. 
Men  thought,  I  suppose,  that  I  was  a  flirt. 

Poor  Edward !  How  patient  he  was  with  it  all. 
Very  soon  I  realised  that  he  hated  all  those  things, 
although  he  would  go  with  me  when  he  could, 
which  was  not  often,  and  always  pretend  to  like 
them. 

By  this  I  don't  mean  that  Edward  was  a  boor. 
He  wasn't,  not  the  teeniest  bit.  He  danced  and 


46 

played  polo  remarkably  well ;  in  fact  he  did  most 
things  uncommonly  well.  In  the  drawing-room  he 
was  charming  and  could  always  be  relied  upon  to 
entertain  the  uninteresting  old  frumps,  ugly 
spinsters,  and  gauche  girls,  one  and  all  of  whom 
were  devoted  to  him.  I  told  him  so  one  day  after 

he  had  been  exceptionally  nice  to  a  Mrs  B ,  the 

Commissioner's  wife,  whom  I  hated.  He  actually 
swore;  and  when  I  expostulated  he  banged  out  of 
the  room  with  a  final  "  Damn  !  "  You  see  I 
didn't  realise  that  Edward  danced  not  because 
he  liked  dancing  but  because  he  liked  to  dance  with 
me;  that  he  admired  my  frocks  because  they  were 

mine',  that  he  was  nice  to  Mrs  B because  he 

thought  that  it  would  save  me  the  trouble  of  being 
nice  to  her.  But  he  was  not  nice  with  men,  that 
is  not  with  my  men  friends. 

When  I  was  exceptionally  charming  to  old 

Colonel  A ,  because  he  was  Edward's  Colonel, 

Edward  became  positively  rude  to  him.  When  I 
asked  him  why  he  was  rude,  he  almost  pranced 
with  rage.  It  was  quite  useless  my  trying  to 
explain.  If  I  had  known  what  I  know  now  I  would 
have  been  rude  to  Edward's  Colonel — he  was  a 
silly  old  man ;  and  then  Edward  would  have  been 
nice  to  him.  But  I  didn't.  The  result  was  that 
Edward  was  sent  off  to  some  awful  place  in  the 
plains,  where  no  white  woman  could  live,  and 
Colonel  A came  to  tea  every  afternoon. 

I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Edward  explaining  that 
if  only  he  had  not  been  so  rude  to  the  Colonel  he 
would  never  have  been  sent  to  that  awful  place. 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  47 

In  the  postscript  I  pointed  out  that  it  would  have 
been  far  nicer  for  us  both  if  he  (Edward)  had  been 
having  tea  with  me  instead  of  Colonel  A — — . 

I  didn't  hear  from  Edward  for  a  whole  week. 

Poor  dear,  he  had  no  sense  of  humour. 


XII 

I  WAS  never  very  fond  of  children — I  suppose 
because  I  knew  so  little  about  them — and  it  was 
an  awful  shock  when  I  first  realised  that  a  baby 
was  coming.  Edward  was  divided  in  his  opinions. 
On  the  one  hand  he  hated  the  idea  of  my  having 
to  suffer  ever  so  slightly ;  on  the  other  he  wanted  a 
son — that  I  could  see,  although  he  never  said  so. 

Men  like  children,  and  I  am  not  so  sure  that 
most  men  have  not  more  of  the  paternal  than 
women  of  the  maternal  instinct.  I  had  no  maternal 
instinct — something  lacking  in  my  make  up  again 
I  imagine.  Edward  was  a  born  father.  Children 
always  liked  him,  and  he  seemed  to  understand 
them. 

When  little  John — that  was  to  be  his  name — was 
growing  to  babyhood  Edward  became  fearfully 
fussy  about  me.  How  in  the  world  he  knew  what 
I  ought  and  ought  not  to  do,  what  I  ought  to  eat, 
and  all  the  oughts  and  ought  nots,  I  never  could 


48  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

make  out.  I  must  say  I  gave  him  credit  for  being 
"  deeper  "  than  I  had  suspected. 

Of  course  there  is"  a  great  deal  of  rubbish 
connected  with  this  baby  business.  In  the  first 
place  everyone  thinks  it  dangerous,  and  most 
people  are  kind  enough  to  tell  the  expectant  mother 
so.  All  stuff  and  nonsense  !  There  are  heaps  and 
heaps  of  worse  things  in  every  day  life  than  having 
babies.  To  cross  Piccadilly  on  a  dark  night  is 
far  more  dangerous  to  my  notion.  A  woman  was 
meant  to  bring  babies  into  the  world ;  it  is  the  one 
thing  above  all  others  that  she  is  best  fitted  for; 
it  is  her  metier.  Again  it  promotes  health. 
A  married  woman  with  no  children  is  always  ill : 
if  her  nerves  are  not  out  of  order,  she  is  anaemic, 
or  gets  pyhorrea,  gastric  ulcer,  or  something 
equally  dreadful.  Then  just  look  at  a  childless 
married  woman  of  forty's  figure !  Isn't  that 
sufficient  proof  ?  Now  conjure  up  all  the  married 
women  you  know  who  have  had  families,  and  look 
at  their  figures;  and  you  will  see  that  I  am  telling 
the  truth.  In  fact  one  could  say  with  conviction 
that :  to  have  children  is  to  be  healthy,  to  preserve 
one's  looks  and  one's  figure,  and  to  remain  young. 
One  can't  get  old  with  a  lot  of  young  things 
crawling  about  one. 

To  produce  children  properly  is  an  art. 
Doctors  never  know  anything  about  it;  how  can 
they?  It  is  an  art  that  only  healthy  women  who 
have  healthy  children  can  teach.  When  some 
wretched,  melancholy-looking  old  creature  gives 
you  advice,  don't  take  it !  When  she  supports  her 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  49 

argument  by  telling  you  that  she  ought  to  know, 
because  she's  buried  ten,  do  the  exact  opposite  of 
what  she  tells  you,  and  you  won't  go  far  wrong. 

Oh  !  what  a  lot  of  nonsense  my  friends  told  me 
about  little  John.  Some  said  that  I  ought  to  stay 
in  bed  in  the  morning;  I  tried  it,  for  I  hate  getting 
up  early,  and  was  frightfully  ill.  Edward  said 
that  I  should  feel  better  if  I  got  up.  At  first  I  cried 
and  accused  him  of  being  unsympathetic.  Then  I 
got  up;  and  blessed  him.  Others  told  me  that  I 
ought  to  lie  on  the  sofa  with  my  feet  up.  It  was  hot 
and  I  felt  lazy — one  always  does  on  these  occasions. 
So  I  lay  on  the  sofa  with  my  feet  up  and 
made  Edward  look  after  me.  I  felt  wretched. 
Edward  said:  "  Damn  these  interfering  old 
women!  Come  and  watch  the  polo."  I  went,  and 
felt  better.  There  were  others  who  said  that  one 
shouldn't  play  the  piano;  that  it  was  dangerous  to 
lift  one's  arms ;  that  one  shouldn't  walk ;  that  if  one 
drove  something  awful  might  happen  ;  that  to  dance 
was  quite  fatal ;  that  to  do  anything  was  to  run  all 
sorts  of  risks.  In  fact  it  was  one  long  series  of 
DON'TS  from  my  dear  friends,  aided  and  abetted 
by  the  doctor — rather  a  nice  man,  Irish.  Now  I 
think  I  mentioned  somewhere  that  I  dislike  being 
told  not  to  do  things;  so  I  did  them,  aided 
and  abetted  by  Edward. 

Edward  was  wonderful ;  my  respect  for  him 
increased  by  leaps  and  bounds.  I  wish  I  could  have 
loved  him ;  he  was  worth  loving.  Edward  had  a 
wonderful  amount  of  common  sense,  a  quality  then 
strictly  out  of  fashion ;  and  he  would  think  every- 
D 


5o  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

thing  out  for  himself.  If  he  had  not  been  such  a 
splendid  soldier  he  would  have  made  a  lovely 
philosopher.  Being  a  soldier,  he  would  take 
orders,  but  never  other  people's  opinions.  When 
his  Colonel  would  tell  him  to  do  something,  he 
would  do  it;  afterwards  he  would  tell  me  why  the 
Colonel  was  a  fool.  And  I  must  say  that  Edward 
was  usually  right. 

Somewhere  in  the  back  of  my  brain  I  have  got  a 
notion  that  if  only  more  people  were  to  think  things 
out  for  themselves  there  would  be  fewer  fools  in  the 
world.  Sheep  are  such  fools,  aren't  they? 

Edward  studied  the  baby  business,  studied  it  not 
with  the  cold,  calculating  brain  of  the  doctor,  but 
with  the  tender,  loving  heart  of  the  husband, 
backed  by  a  well-balanced,  open  mind.  Edward 
always  applied  what  he  called  the  "  Nature  test  " 
to  everything.  One  day  I  was  furious  because  he 
compared  me  to  a  goat — a  native  goat  at  that! 
"  There  you  are,"  he  pointed  triumphantly. 
"  There's  a  mother  in  embryo  for  you.  Is  she 
lying  down  ?  Is  she  hanging  her  head  and  looking 
miserable?  Not  she!  Just  eating,  walking, 
playing,  in  a  natural  way;  and  when  she  feels  tired 
she  stops  and  rests.  Go,  darling,  and  do  thou 
likewise." 

Thanks  to  Edward  everything  went  off  splen- 
didly ;  and  little  John  made  his  bow  upon  this  stage 
of  the  world  before  ever  the  doctor  appeared  with 
the  impedimenta  of  his  trade.  He  was  horribly 
surprised  and  looked  rather  annoyed.  "  Really, 
Mrs  M ,"  he  said,  "  this  is  most  unprofessional ; 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  51 

I  wouldn't  have  had  it  happen  for  anything.  But 
you  look  remarkably  well,  if  I  may  say  so?  "  he 
added,  doubtfully. 

I  was  feeling  remarkably  well ;  it  was  such  a  relief 
to  know  that  it  was  all  over,  and  that  I  had 
accomplished  a  real  live  baby.  It  was  a  lovely 
little  thing,  like  a  pixy  with  its  curl  of  black  hair 
standing  up  on  its  forehead.  It  was  as  happy  as 
anything,  smiling  and  gurgling  to  itself,  until  the 
doctor  smacked  it.  Just  fancy  smacking  a  baby 
that  age!  And  they  always  do;  if  the  doctor 
doesn't,  the  nurse  does.  And  why  do  you 
suppose?  To  make  it  cry.  It  was  beastly  of  the 
doctor,  and  I  told  him  so.  He  explained  that  it 
was  the  custom,  because  crying  was  necessary  to 
make  their  lungs  act.  "  Do  you  suppose,"  I 
said,  "  that  when  I  have  gone  to  all  the  trouble  of 
making  it,  that  its  lungs  won't  act?  " 

'  Well — er — when   it  cries  we  know   that  the 
lungs  are  sound." 

"  A  labour-saving  device  ?  "  I  suggested  art- 
lessly. 

Captainf  O ,  the  doctor,  smiled.      He  had  a 

really  sweet  smile,  but  he  didn't  know  much  about 
babies. 


52  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


XIII 

FRANKLY  I  was  terrified  of  little  John.  He  was  so 
small  and  fragile.  To  my  astonishment  Edward 
wasn't.  He  would  pick  him  up  and  play  with  him 
as  though  he  had  been  used  to  new  born  babies  all 
his  life.  It  was  lucky ;  otherwise  I  don't  know  what 
would  have  happened.  It's  simply  awful  when  one 
is  a  mother  and  hasn't  a  mother's  instinct.  Some 
women  have,  I  suppose;  I  hadn't.  Most  women 
love  their  babies  when  they  are  in  the  "  cuddly  " 
stage ;  I  don't.  I  prefer  them  when  they  are  grown 
up,  then  they  seem  to  me  so  much  more  interesting. 
Little  John  had  to  be  fed,  and  there  the  trouble 
began,  for  there  didn't  seem  to  be  anything  for  him 

to  eat.    Said  the  doctor  :  "  I  am  afraid,  Mrs  M , 

that  you  will  have  to  put  the  baby  on  a  bottle."  So 
I  sent  the  nurse  to  the  bazaar  for  a  bottle.  Presently 
Edward  appeared.  Little  John  was  bawling 
manfully;  he  hadn't  had  anything  for  three  days. 
The  doctor  said  that  he  didn't  need  food  for  three 
days,  but  little  John  thought  otherwise.  "  You 
must  feed  him,  darling,"  said  Edward.  I  explained. 
Edward  growled  something  about:  "all  damned 
nonsense!  the  doctor  is  an  idiot,"  picked  baby  out 
of  his  cot,  and  brought  him  over  to  me.  The  way 
he  yelled  was  awful — little  John  I  mean.  Poor  wee 
mite,  he  was  frightfully  empty.  After  he  had 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  53 

clawed  and  scratched  me  thoroughly  and  pulled 
unmercifully  at  my  hair,  he  snuggled  down  close 
and  commenced  to  search  blindly  for  food. 
Edward  came  to  the  rescue.  In  the  middle  of  it 
all  the  nurse,  a  soldier's  wife,  appeared  with  the 
bottle. 

"  What's  that?  "  said  Edward. 

"  Baby's  food,"  she  replied. 

"  What  food?  " 

"  Condensed  milk  and  water." 
'  Throw  it  away!  "  ordered  Edward. 

'  The  doctor  says "   began   the    nurse,   all 

dignity. 

"  Damn  the  doctor!  "  said  Edward. 

Just  then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  in 

walked  Captain  O .     He  stood  speechless  for 

several  minutes,  watching  Edward,  who  was 
coaxing  baby  to  work  for  his  living. 

"  Quite  useless,  Major,"  he  said,  rather 
snappily. 

"  Who  says  so?  "  asked  Edward,  busy  with  the 
baby. 

"  Well — er — I  have  come  to  that  conclusion." 

"  Suppose  we  were  on  a  desert  island,"  suggested 
Edward  in  that  peculiarly  quiet  way  he  had  when 
thoroughly  angry. 

"  The  baby  would  die." 

"  All  right,  darling  " — as  little  John  gave  me 
an  awful  bite — lucky  he  had  no  teeth,  I  thought— 
"  he's  swallowing,"  said  Edward. 

"  Air,"  said  the  doctor. 

John  was  swallowing,  and  presently  he  dropped 


54  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

asleep.  Edward  was  calm,  though  I  could  see  he 
was  triumphant ;  he  picked  his  little  son  up  in  his 
great  big  gentle  hands,  and  put  him  back  in  the  cot. 

"  The  baby  will  starve  if  you  don't  put  him  on 
a  bottle,"  said  Captain  O presently. 

"  When  he's  starving  I'll  send  for  you,"  said 
Edward.  - 

The  next  time  the  doctor  came,  which  was  the 
next  day,  he  still  insisted  that  little  John  was 
starving.  Edward  wasn't  there;  and  the  nurse 
backed  him  up.  It  was  a  very  awkward  position  : 
doctor  and  nurse  on  one  side,  Edward  on  the  other, 
and  baby  and  myself  in  the  middle.  I  didn't  know, 
baby  didn't  know,  I  didn't  know  whether  Edward 
knew  or  not,  in  fact  I  couldn't  see  how  he  could 
know.  Presumably  the  doctor  and  nurse  did  know. 
It  would  be  awful  if  little  John  did  starve  after  all. 

"  Let's  wait  for  my  husband,"  said  I. 

"  The  baby  is  starving,"  said  the  doctor. 

'  Downright  crool  I  calls  it,"  said  the  nurse. 

Little  John  was  yelling.  I  didn't  know  what  to 
do,  for  I  had  fed  him  only  a  short  while  before,  and 
he  had  taken  everything — to  the  last  drop. 

I  closed  my  eyes  to  think — I  always  think  better 
with  my  eyes  shut. 

"  Poor  thing  I  "  said  nurse.  "  Takin'  the  very 
life  blood  from  her." 

"  Mix  the  food  according  to  the  directions  I  gave 
you,"  said  the  doctor. 

It  was  awful,  for  I  knew  that  Edward  would  be  in 
at  any  minute. 

Nurse  was  tryjng  to  persuade  baby  to  take  the 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  55 

bottle,  and  the  doctor  was  feeling  my  pulse,  when 
the  inevitable  happened.  Edward  walked  in.  He 
surveyed  the  situation  in  a  glance,  strode  over  to 
the  cot,  seized  the  bottle,  and  threw  it  at  the  doctor. 

Of  course  there  was  a  commotion,  but  Edward 
was  in  command. 

Captain  O spluttered,  while  nurse  ran  to  wipe 

his  coat — the  bottle  had  hit  him  on  the  back,  and 
something  had  burst. 

Edward  picked  up  little  John,  who  was  still 
crying  piteously,  dandled  him  for  a  moment  or  two, 
and  then  began  to  pat  his  little  back.,  An  explosion 
followed.  "  That's  right,  little  man,  get  it  up," 
said  Edward. 

The  doctor  looked  at  Edward,  nurse  looked  at 
Edward,  I  looked  at  Edward,  little  John,  who  had 
stopped  crying,  looked  at  Edward ;  all  with  different 
expressions,  and  all  in  silence. 

"  Air,"  said  Edward,  quite  seriously. 

Little  John  did  not  starve,  neither  was  he  put  on 
bottles.  On  the  contrary  he  prospered  exceedingly. 

I  don't  know  what  happened  between  Edward 
and  the  doctor,  but  the  next  time  I  saw  Captain 

O he  was  most  charming  and  congratulated  me 

on  the  appearance  of  the  baby. 


56  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


XIV 

I  DIDN'T  mind  the  heat,  but  baby  disliked  it,  so  I 
made  Edward  get  some  sick  leave — he  was  really 
looking  quite  run  down — and  take  us  all  up  to 

S ,  where  we  took  a  charming  little  furnished 

bungalow. 

S is  one  of  the  jolliest  places  in  the  world, 

and  it  has  a  lovely  climate,  one  can  sit  with  the 
window  wide  open  even  when  there  is  snow  on  the 
ground.  It  was  a  pity  that  Edward  couldn't  stay; 
but  of  course  he  had  his  duty  to  do.  Edward  didn't 

like  S ;  he  regarded  it  as  a  sort  of  Sodom  and 

Gomorrah  modernised  and  rolled  into  one,  and  tried 
to  give  me  all  sorts  of  unnecessary  advice  about 
what  I  ought  and  ought  not  to  do,  which  was  silly 
of  him. 

At  first  I  and  little  John  lived  very  quietly,  that 
is  until  he  grew  teeth  and  needed  no  more  of  my 
provision.  S —  -  is  the  summer  seat  of  Society, 

also  the  favourite  seat  of  Government.  S was 

therefore  very  smart  and  exceedingly  lively.  Now 
I  am  essentially  a  Society  woman.  I  love  smart 
society,  because,  I  suppose,  It — or  rather  Its  men- 
folk love  me;  but  one  can't  play  the  mother  and 
the  society  woman  at  the  self  same  time  with  any 
degree  of  success.  So  one  must  choose.  I  quite 
realise  that  most  society  women  prefer  society  for 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  57 

themselves  and  a  bottle  for  baby.  I  would  have 
done,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  a  combination  of  circum- 
stances and  Edward.  But  it  is  a  great  mistake  I 
In  the  first  place  the  mother  of  a  bottle  fed  baby 
becomes  "  nervy  " — naturally,  for  all  the  substance 
which  nature  has  given  her  to  provide  for  the  baby 
has  to  be  dissipated  somehow ;  and  dissipation  ruins 
the  nervous  system,  and  makes  a  woman  prema- 
turely old,  and  consequently  ugly.  This  is  a 
mistake  from  the  mother's  point  of  view,  without 
considering  the  baby.  I  can  tell  the  mother  of  a 
bottle  fed  baby  as  soon  as  I  see  her.  She  is  usually 
very  silly  and  stupid,  painfully  bony,  and  always 
1  jumpy."  More  often  than  not  her  husband  hates 
her,  and  no  wonder;  I  should.  In  a  man's  eyes — 
and  I  know  something  about  men — there  is  nothing 
on  earth  or  in  Heaven  more  beautiful  or  more 
lovable  than  a  mother  (their  wife)  nursing  her 
child  (their  child).  It  doesn't  matter  how  little  that 
man  loved  his  wife  before,  then  he  will  adore  her. 
Men — men  that  matter — are  curious  creatures,  and 
the  strongest  thing  about  them  is  their  sense  of 
duty.  Such  men  do  their  own  duty,  and  expect 
their  wives  to  do  theirs;  they  can't  understand  a 
mother  not  feeding  her  child:  and  if  she  doesn't — 
they  don't  care  a  button  if  she  actually  can't — that 
woman  loses  caste  in  her  husband's  eyes.  A 
woman  who  has  toppled  off  the  pedestal  upon  which 
her  husband  has  placed  her  might  just  as  well  set 
about  earning  a  divorce — for  he  will  never  build  her 
another.  If  she  doesn't,  in  all  probability  her 
husband  will.  And  I,  for  one,  wouldn't  blame 


58  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

him;  for  that  woman  doesn't  deserve  a  decent 
man. 

If  only  we  women  would  realise  our  power  when 
perched  on  a  pedestal,  we  wouldn't  be  so  silly  as  to 
demand  equality  with  men.  Let  us  make  our  men 
build  us  pedestals,  set  us  up  on  them,  and  let  us  see 
that  we  stay  there.  From  there  we  can  rule  the 
world ;  from  there  we  are  the  strongest  force  under 
Heaven ;  from  there  we  hold  the  keys  of  Heaven 
and  Hell  in  our  hands.  On  the  platform  we  may 
be  man's  equal j  on  our  pedestal  we  are  man's 
master,  certainly;  sometimes  man's  God. 

In  the  old  days  Englishwomen — pedestal-proud 
women — knew  their  power  and  ruled  the  Empire. 
That  Empire  was  great.  And  such  was  the 
cleverness  of  those  women  that  they  allowed  their 
menfolk  to  imagine  that  they  alone  had  done  that 
great  thing.  While  they  themselves  sat  on  their 
pedestals  and  looked  sweet. 

S was   the   summer  seat   of   the   Petticoat 

Government  of  India,  and  ohl  what  fun  that 
Government  was.  If  only  Edward  had  not  been  so 
silly  and  jealous  I  would  have  had  him  made 
a  Brigadier — at  least.  But  poor  dear  Edward  was 
awful.  He  only  wanted  me  on  my  pedestal. 

One  can't  sit  comfortably  on  a  pedestal  all  day, 
so  it  was  just  as  well  that  Edward  wasn't  there  to 
see. 

There  were  some  lovely  men  in  S ;  selected 

especially  for  their  beauty  and  nice  manners  to 
shoulder  the  heavy  burden  of  Government  and 
incidentally,  in  their  spare  time,  to  amuse  the 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  59 

Government's  wives.  Why  have  ugly  men  when 
pretty  ones  will  do  just  as  well  ? 

I  had  a  lovely  time,  my  friend  Lady  W—  -  saw 
to  that,  for  she  was  a  power  in  S .  I  knew  every- 
one worth  knowing;  and  little  John  was  voted  a 
perfect  darling,  whenever  I  had  him  down  from  his 
nursery  to  show  him  off.  Everyone  knew  that  I 
had  given  up  nine  whole  months  of  my  invaluable 
time  to  him,  and  I  was  in  consequence  held  up  to 
all  beholders  as  the  model  par  excellence  of 
what  a  mother  should  be.  No  wonder  Edward- 
down  in  the  plains — was  envied;  and  more  than 
ever  I  realised  what  a  lucky  man  he  was.  Some- 
times I  wrote  to  tell  him  so,  but  it  was  poor  fun,  for 
he  always  agreed. 

Naturally  when  a  certain  Prince  honoured  S 

with  a  visit,  everyone  was  delighted,  and  all  sorts 
of  levees,  balls,  receptions,  and  things  on  the  grand 
scale  were  the  order  of  the  day.  One  night  there 

was  a  grand  ball  at  B ,  and  everyone  who  was 

of  any  account  was  there.  The  Prince  sat  on  a 
raised  dais  at  one  end  of  the  ball-room,  from  where 
he  could  see  everyone  comfortably.  Whenever 
anyone  in  particular  pleased  his  eye  he  would 
whisper  to  an  equerry-in-waiting,  and  the  latter 
would  intimate  to  the  lady  that  the  Prince  desired 
the  honour  of  dancing  with  her.  He  was  a  dear  I 
and  showed  remarkably  good  taste  everyone  said. 

I  happened  to  be  dancing  with  Edward,  who  had 
somehow  managed  to  get  a  few  days'  leave — I 
hadn't  anything  to  do  with  that,  when  the  Prince 
chose  me.  An  equerry  came  up,  bowed,  introduced 


6o 

himself,  and  delivered  the  Royal  command.  Natur- 
ally I  was  awfully  pleased,  who  wouldn't  be? 

"  What's  that?  "  said  Edward,  getting  red  about 
the  ears,  and  looking  very  stern ;  he  was  infinitely 
bigger  than  the  equerry. 

The  latter  repeated  his  instructions  and  offered 
me  his  arm. 

•"  My  wife  is  tired,"  said  Edward. 

"  I'm  not,"  said  I. 

Edward,  obstinate  thing,  took  my  other  arm.  Of 
course  everyone  was  looking ;  it  was  awful !  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  wanted  to  dance  with 
the  Prince,  but  I  was  afraid — the  only  time  I  was 
ever  afraid — of  Edward;  he  looked  positively 
dangerous. 

"  Madame,  His  Highness  is  waiting,"  spluttered 
the  equerry,  trying  to  look  extra  dignified. 

"  And  I  want  to  go,  Edward,"  said  I,  trying  to 
disengage  my  arm. 

Edward  got  very  white,  and  was  squinting 
horribly.  The  way  he  tweaked  my  arm  was  terrible. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  this  means,  Colonel 
M ?  "  said  the  equerry  very  sternly. 

"  Go  to  the  devil,"  said  Edward. 

I  fainted. 

Next  day  all  S was  talking  about  the  wretched 

business.     Edward  was  severely  reprimanded  by 

General  Sir  G W ,  and  sent  back  to  his 

regiment.      Luckily     I     knew    Lady     W or 

goodness  knows  what  would  have  happened. 
Edward's  jealousy  was  simply  disgusting! 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  61 

The  joke  of  the  thing  was  that  afterwards  I  did 
meet  the  Prince;  he  was  very  kind  and  laughed 
like  anything  when  I  told  him  the  story. 


XV 

Ax  a  certain  military  station  in  the  North  East 
Provinces  I  hear  that  they  still  tell  a  story  of 
Delilah  and  the  Turkey  Thief.  Of  course  Rpor 
Delilah  gets  badly  treated.  I  think  it's  high  time 
that  the  truth  were  told. 

I,  Edward,  John,  and  little  Evelyn  (the  latter 
followed  John  into  the  world  after  eighteen  months) 
lived  in  a  large  bungalow  with  a  large  compound. 
Across  the  compound  were  the  servants'  quarters ; 
and  we  kept  all  sorts  of  wild  animals,  including 
goats  and  turkeys.  One  side  of  the  bungalow, 
where  my  betiroom  was,  faced  a  wood,  about  a 
hundred  yards  away. 

We  had  been  losing  turkeys  in  Edward's  absence 
(he  had  gone  away  for  a  fe\v  weeks  on  some 
Government  mission).  So  when  he  came  back  he 
determined  to  sit  up  and  catch  the  thieves.  I  went 
to  bed. 

Now  there  was  at  the  station. a  certain  Captain 
who  was  doing  something  in  the  Indian  Survey, 
making  maps  sometimes  I  think.  I  only  knew 


62  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Captain  C very  slightly,  having  met  him  once 

or  twice.  He  had  a  bad  reputation,  so  people  said ; 
but  he  didn't  look  at  all  bad,  quite  good  looking 
in  fact,  and  most  amusing.  I  noticed  that  he 
did  seem  interested  in  me;  but  then  men  always 
are. 

It  was  hot ;  and  as  my  window  faced  nothing  but 
a  wood,  I  used  to  draw  back  the  curtains  when  I 
went  to  bed,  and  open  the  window. 

I  was  always  a  splendid  sleeper,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  afraid  of — only  a  few  monkeys  who 
would  sometimes  pay  me  an  early  morning  visit. 
Besides  we  were  close  to  the  General's  bungalow. 

As  I  say,  I  went  to  bed,  with  the  curtains  pulled 
back  as  usual;  while  Edward  sat  up  in  his  study, 
which  faced  the  same  way,  to  catch  the  turkey 
thieves. 

I  don't  know  how  it  was  but  as  I  pulled  back  the 
curtain  I  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was  a  lovely 
moonlight  night,  and  the  world  outside  was  alive 
with  strange  noises.  For  a  few  minutes  I  looked 
out  with  my  elbows  on  the  window  sill,  think- 
ing of  nothing  in  particular,  just,  drinking  in 
the  moonlight,  when  Edward  knocked  at  the 
door. 

Now  if  it  had  been  as  Edward  undoubtedly 
suspected  would  I  have  been  likely  to  stay  at  the 
window  ? 

Edward  came  in,  and  of  course  saw  me  at  the 
window.  He  had  a  gun  in  his  hand. 

"  Still  awake!  "  he  asked  in  a  curiously  quiet 
voice. 


POOR    DEAR     EDWARD  63 

"  Did  you  catch  your  thief  7  "  I  asked  sarcas- 
tically. 

"  No,  but  I'm  going  to;  and  you  are  going  :to 
help  me." 

"  Don't  you  order  me  about,  Edward,"  said  I. 
"  You  can  keep  that  for  the  parade  ground  and 
black  men.  How  dare  you  order  me?  '  and 
I  stamped  my  bare  foot  at  him. 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  sort  of  patient,  pitying 
look  that  I  can't  stand ;  makes  one  feel  as  if  one  had 
done  something  wrong. 

"  I  hate  you,  Edward!  "  I  burst  out.  "  Hate 
you !  hate  you  !  hate  you  !  I  wish  to  goodness  I 
had  never  married  you.  I'm  far  too  good  for  you, 
you  old  pig.  Go  away  at  once.  Coming  here  with 
your  infinite  patience  sort  of  air.  Go  away  and  say 
your  prayers."  Edward  always  hated  it  when  I 
laughed  about  his  prayers. 

"  Look  over  there,"  he  said  sternly,  pointing 
through  the  window,  "  behind  that  big  pine  tree. 
Do  you  see  anything?  " 

If  he  had  argued  I  shouldn't  have  looked. 

"  Why  it's— it's " 

"  It's  a  man!  "  said  Edward. 

41  And  that  white  patch  looks  like,  like " 

"  A  shirt  front,"  said  Edward. 

"  Oh  !  it's  a  turkey  thief  J  "  and  I  clapped  my 
hands. 

"  Come  away  from  the  window,"  said  Edward 
sternly. 

"  Look  I  He's  moving!  He's  coming  out  into 
the  moonlight.  And  he's  got  a — a " 


64  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"  Pair  of  opera  glasses,"  said  Edward. 

I  left  the  window,  and  seized  the  curtain.  What 
disgusting  brutes  men  are!  And  opera  glasses  I 

"  Edward,  one  can't  see  anything  with  opera 
glasses  at  night  can  one?  "  I  asked  anxiously.  I 
was  in  my  nighty — a  very  pretty  one. 

"  A  night  glass  I  expect,"  said  Edward  dismally. 
Then  sternly  :  "  Don't  touch  that  curtain  !  " 

"  But,  Edward " 

"  Not  till  I  tell  you."  And  he  began  to  load  the 
gun. 

"  You're  not  going  to  kill  him,  Edward?  "  I 
asked  anxiously;  I  didn't  know  who  it  was. 

"  Not    yet,"    said    Edward.      "  Now,"    as    he 
snapped  the  breech.     "  Take  hold  of  that  curtain 
no,  don't  pull  it.     Take  hold  of  it  gently — like  this 
— and  shake  it." 

"  I  can't,  Edward,  it's,  it's " 

"  Justice,"  said  Edward  in  an  awful  voice. 

There  was  no  hope  for  it ;  I  simply  had  to. 
Anyhow  it  was  a  beastly  thing  to  do.  And  as  I 
fluttered  the  curtain  I  wondered  who  it  could  be. 

There   was   Captain    L ;    he   wouldn't   do   it. 

There  was  Mr  O ;  far  too  young.     There  was 

Colonel    W ;    too   old,    and   too   fond   of    his 

creature   comforts.     Still    I    fluttered   the   curtain. 
It  must  be — yes,  it  must  be-— I  peeped  out. 

"  That  will  fetch  him,"  said  Edward,  who  was 
behind  the  curtain. 

"You  perfect  beast!  I  shan't  do  your  dirty 
work!  You — you — I'll  never  speak  to  you 
again!  "  and  I  turned  my  back  on  him.  Edward 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  65 

was  a  beast !  So  was  Captain  C !  I  think  I 

cried. 

"  Here  he  comes,"  said  Edward,  cocking  the 
gun  and  pointing  it  out  of  the  window. 

"Edward!  Edward!  You  daren't!  You'll  be 
hanged  for  murder!  You'll— you'll  wake  the 
babies."  And  I  ran  to  him  and  caught  his 
arm. 

"  Go  back  to  bed,"  said  Edward. 

I  begged  him;  I  implored  him;  I  knelt  to  him. 
He  was  adamant.  What  I  suffered  then  God  only 
knows.  He  looked  murder,  cold,  deliberate, 
diabolical  murder. 

"  You're  mad,  Edward,"  I  cried. 

Bang!    Bang  I 

Edward  closed  the  window;  then  pulled  the 
curtain.  "  Got  him,"  he  said.  "  Pleasant 
dreams!  "  and  he  left  the  room. 

That  night  I  suffered  mental  tortures.  Of  course 
the  man  was  dead:  and  Edward  would  be  hung; 
and  I,  and  I — oh!  it  was  more  than  I  could  bear! 
It  was  hideous !  ghastly  !  And  I  didn't  even  know 
for  certain  who  it  was.  Then  I  thought  of  the 
scandal,  and — and  perhaps  the  poor  thing  wasrv't 
dead.  I  ran  to  the  window.  Nothing !  Not  a 
sign  of  anything.  Had  Edward  already  buried  the 
body  ?  I  crept  to  little  John's  cot,  and  cuddled  him 
to  me  for  company. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

Captain  C was  laid  up  for  a  long  time ;  and 

the   doctor    called    every    day    to    pick    buck-shot 

out   of   his   legs.    The    Mess — one  can't   keep   a 
E 


66  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

secret  in  India — christened  him  "  The  Turkey 
Thief."  And  I — behind  my  back  of  course — was 
Delilah. 

Edward    merely    laughed;    his    sense    of    the 
ridiculous  was  disgusting. 


XVI 

INDIA  is  an  awful  country  for  children — that  is 
English  children.  In  the  first  place  the  climate 
does  not  suit  them,  and  in  the  second  there  are 
no  schools.  So  I  decided  to  go  home.  And  as  a 
matter  of  fact  I  needed  a  rest  from  Edward. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  the  saying  that 
"  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view,"  and 
personally  I  am  quite  sure  that  wives  do  need  a 
complete  rest  from  their  husbands  sometimes. 
Many  a  temporary  separation  has  saved  a  divorce. 
It's  all  right  when  two  people  are  devoted  to  each 
other;  they  find  rest  in  their  devotion.  But  I 
didn't  love  Edward;  and  recently  he  had  been 
getting  on  my  nerves  horribly  with  his  melodrama 
and  jealousy. 

As  I  mentioned  before  I  used  to  consider 
jealousy  part  and  parcel  of  Love;  now  I  don't.  N  A 
jealous  husband  is  great  fun  when  one  is  fit,  but 
when  one  has  produced  two  children,  and  is 
expecting  a  third,  when  one  has  stewed  for  three 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  67 

years  in  India,  and  when  one  has  lived  at  high 
pressure  most  of  the  time,  one  isn't  fit. 

Of  course  Edward  didn't  want  me  to  go;  hus- 
bands never  do.  Fortunately  the  doctor,  Captain 

O ,    was    a    great    friend    of    mine    and   very 

sympathetic.  Brown  eyed  men  are  always  more 
sympathetic  than  other  men.  I  made  Captain 

O warn    Edward,    very    severely,    that    if    I 

didn't  go  home  something  dreadful  would  certainly 
happen.  Edward  was  in  an  awful  state  of  agita- 
tion. Naturally  he  wanted  to  come  too,  and  did 
all  he  could  to  get  leave.  He  even  wrote  to  my 

great    friend    Lady    W :    fortunately    I    had 

already  written  to  her. 

They  wouldn't  give  Edward  any  leave — probably 
because  of  the  Prince  episode.  He  was 
furious.  I  actually  believe  that  he  would  have 
deserted  if  I  hadn't  prevented  him.  Starvation 
might  suit  Edward;  it  wouldn't  me,  or  the  babies; 
and  I  told  him  so. 

Poor  dear  Edward!  he  cried,  actually  cried,  as 
he  said  good-bye.  I  can  see  him  now,  tall,  erect, 
and  very  distinguished  looking,  standing  on  the 
quay,  waving.  Little  did  I  realise  that  it  would 
be  the  last  time  that  I  should  see  him.  -  If  I  had 
perhaps  I  should  have  cried  too ;  for  he  was  a  big 
man,  far,  far  too  big  for  me — I'm  only  five  foot 
one,  as  I  said. 

Looking  back  over  the  bridge  of  years  I  some- 
times wonder  why  Edward  loved  me  so.  Perhaps 
he  saw  something  inside  me  which  was  bigger  than 
my  little  self,  something  that  would  perhaps  love 


68  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

him  one  day,  as  he  loved  me.  I  might  have  been 
so  different  if  I  had  wanted  to  be,  so  much  kinder ; 
I  might  at  least  have  pretended  to  love  him  more 
than  I  did.  And  yet  I  doubt  if  he  would  have 
loved  me  any  the  more  for  it.  Men  are  such 
curious  creatures. 

Little  John  was  inconsolable  without  his  daddy 
— for  several  days.  Children  are  such  wise  little 
things,  aren't  they?  They  seem  to  see  what  we 
grown  up  people  can't  see.  I  sometimes  think 
that  they  know  so  much  more  than  we  do. 

Edward  was  a  splendid  father — far  and  away  the 
best  of  my  three  husbands.  I  think  perhaps 
because  he  was  so  just.  Children  understand 
justice,  and  love  it.  With  Edward  there  were  no 
distinctions  between  the  two  children ;  both  were 
equal.  John  was  his  favourite,  I  think,  but  he 
never  showed  it.  He  was  wonderful  with  children  ; 
in  the  nursery  he  was  one  of  them ;  I  used  to  cry 
with  laughter  to  see  him  romping  and  crawling 
about  with  them.  He  never  told  them  not  to  do 
things;  for  he  used  to  say  that  to  forbid  a  thing 
was  to  instigate  the  child  to  do  it.  Poor  dear,  he 
had  all  sorts  of  plans  for  bringing  up  children,  but 
of  course  there  must  be  at  least  four — this  latter 
notion  was  a  bone  of  contention  between  us. 
"  It's  all  right  for  you,  Edward,  to  want  four,  but 
I  have  got  to  make  them,"  was  my  argument. 
Edward,  as  I  mentioned  somewhere,  was  a  great 
student  of  Nature,  and,  according  to  him, 
Nature's  laws  were  for  our  guidance;  I  used  to 
think  it  rather  silly.  He  never  would  say :  "  Don't 


POOR     DEAR     EDWARD  69 

play  with  the  fire,  John,"  but:  "  My  son,  fire 
burns,  and  a  burn  hurts."  Of  course  John  tested 
the  truth  of  these  statements  at  first,  aided  and 
abetted  by  Edward.  I  remember  an  awful  row 
we  had  when  John  burnt  his  hand — horribly. 
Poor  little  man,  he  was  very- brave  about  it,  and 
between  sobs,  reiterated:  "  fire  burns,  fire  burns, 
daddy  says  so,  and  it  hurted." 

"  How  did  it  happen?  "  I  asked. 

"  Daddy  said  fire  burns  and  hurted.  I  said  no. 
Daddy  said  put  your  finger  in  the  fire  and  see. 
I  did,  and  it  hurted.  It  hurted  somefink  offul." 

Of  course  I  was  furious  with  Edward.  Strangely 
enough  little  John  never  got  burnt  again. 

Then  Edward  had  another  plan,  which  really 
acted  rather  well.  I  don't  know,  how  he  thought 
of  it.  Instead  of  saying:  "  Don't  touch  that,  or 
don't  destroy  that,"  he  would  say:  "  Mummy's 
or  daddy's,  or  someone  else's,"  as  the  case  might 
be.  The  result  was  that  the  children  were  never 
a  nuisance,  and  could  be  taken  anywhere.  When 
they  would  start  to  prowl  about  a  drawing-room, 
looking  for  what  they  might  destroy — children  are 
awfully  destructive  little  imps,  aren't  they?— 
Edward  used  to  let  them  alone.  If  they  pounced 
upon  some  precious  article  or  other  that 
attracted  them,  he  would  say:  "Mrs  Brown's, 
or  Jones',  or  Robinson's."  That  was  quite  suffi- 
cient. And  it  was  really  amusing  to  see  them 
look  wise  and  lisp:  "  Mrs  Brown's,"  in  awe-struck 
tones.  "It  will  teach  them  to  respect  other 
people's  property,"  Edward  would  say. 


70  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Of  course  they  had  their  very  own  possessions 
too,  and  with  these  they  were  allowed  to  do  just 
as  they  liked.  Edward  was  adamant  on  this  point. 
"  Let  them  break  it,"  he  would  say,  "  it's  theirs. 
If  you  don't  want  it  broken,  why  give  it  to  them  ?  " 

"  Excellent  in  theory,  but  impossible  in 
practice,"  I  would  say,  and  the  ayah  agreed  with 
me.  But  Edward  always  said:  "rubbish!";  he 
was  becoming  unbearably  autocratic  in  the  nursery. 
I  was  very  glad  when  I  had  the  children  to  myself ; 
though  I  must  say  they  were  remarkably  good 
with  Edward. 

While  I  am  en  vein,  I  might  as  well  mention 
other  of  Edward's  notions  on  children — these 
things,  very  boring  I  think,  are  becoming  popular 
for  some  strange  reason,  and  I  do  want  this  book 
to  be  popular.  "  There  must  be  no  authority  in 
the  nursery,'*  was  one  of  Edward's  startling 
theories. 

"  What  about  honour  thy  father  and  mother?  " 
I  asked.  I  learnt  biblical  quotations  from  Edward 
— most  effective !  and  how  he  hated  them  from  me. 

"  Love  is  the  only  authority." 

"  And  if  they  don't  love  one?  " 

"  Then  hand  them  over  to  someone  who  does," 
said  Edward. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  love,  Edward?  " 
'  Well,  er — in  this  case  Justice." 

"  Can  one  punish  if  one  loves?  "  I  had  him 
there,  I  thought. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Edward.  "Justice  punishes 
because  Justice  is  Love." 


71 

"  Platitudes,  and  rather  hypocritical,"  said  I. 
And  really  and  truly  I  think  Edward  was  a  bit  of 
a  hypocrite — in  some  things.  Anyhow  I  couldn't 
understand  him. 

Then  another  awful  thing  about  Edward  was  his 
idea  of  Royalty — I  believe  he  got  it  after  the 

Prince  of episode.     "  The  nursery  must  be  a 

Republic,"  he  used  to  say. 

"  And  you  a  soldier,  of  the  Queen!  Edward, 
I  am  surprised.  No  wonder  you  get  passed  for 
promotion."  That  used  to  infuriate  him. 

"In  a  true  Republic,  everyone  is  equal,  men 
and" — sternly,  "women.  No:  'John,  you  first 
because  you  are  the  eldest,'  or  '  Evelyn,  you  first, 
because  you  are  a  girl.'  Equality  in  all  things; 
that  is  Justice.  Every  week  a  President  should  be 
elected,  so  that  all  may  learn  in  turn  to  administer 
Justice." 

"  Suppose  they  always  choose  the  same  one?  " 

"  They  won't,"  said  Edward.  "  Not  if  they 
have  free  choice." 

"  Then  again,"  he  would  continue,  "  the 
nursery  must  be  run  as  a  common  community  for 
all  members.  There  must  be  no  favouritism,  no 
one  -who  happens  to  be  the  strongest  taking  all 
the  toys  or  sweets." 

"  That's  just  what  would  happen." 

"  What  about  yourself,  or  nurse,  or  the 
governess?  That  is  where  you  come  in.  You, 
or  nurse,  or  the  governess  must  be  the  supreme 
law,  Justice  personified.  You  must  be  the  force 
moving  the  community,  the  force  of  Love,  which 


72  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

is  as  I  said  Justice ;  and  it  is  your  business  to  pro- 
tect the  weak,  and  make  the  strong  use  their 
strength  for  the  weak." 

And  he  would  go  on  in  this  strain  until  I  was 
bored  to  tears.  One  can't  be  surprised  that  I  was 
glad  to  leave  Edward. 

We  had  great  fun  on  the  boat,  one  always  does 
— at  least  I  do.  Few  women  realise  what  an  attrac- 
tive picture  a  pretty  woman  with  two  or  three 
pretty  children  makes.  Men  find  it  simply  irre- 
sistible !  that's  why  widows  are  so  popular.  If  you 
want  to  be  really  popular  with  men  become  a 
widow.  Of  course  when  one's  husband  is  in  India, 
or  in  some  other  far-off  country,  one  is  almost  a 
widow,  in  modern  parlance  one  might  say  a 
"  temporary  "  widow. 

I  was  very  run  down  after  those  three  years  of 
India  and  Edward,  and  I  looked  fragile  and  rather 
prettily  ill.  Some  of  the  men  on  board  knew 
Edward,  and  were  jealous  of  him,  so  naturally 
they  were  nice  to  me.  There  was  one  boy,  in  the 
Indian  Cavalry,  who  was  charming,  and  made  love 
so  beautifully  that  I  actually  did  fall  in  love  with 
him  for  a  time.  Lucky  I  was  married,  otherwise 
in  a  weak  moment  he  might  have  persuaded  me  to 
marry  him ;  and  he  was  awfully  poor,  poor  boy ! 
I  hate  poverty.  It's  no  use,  I  simply  can't  be 
poor.  I  must  have  nice  frocks,  and  expensive 
hats,  and  jewels — I  dote  on  jewellery,  and  flowers, 
and  taxis,  and  servants.  I  can't  help  it.  I  can't 
really,  it's  part  and  parcel  of  me.  One  can't  plant 


73 

a  rose  in  the  desert;  it  would  die.  I'm  like  that. 
Beastly  and  mercenary  and  all  that  sort  of  adjective, 
I  know.  But  there  I  am,  naked  and  unashamed 
(bother  that  bible  habit!),  and  men  love  me,  and 
three  men  I  have  married,  and  I  quite  expect  to 
marry  again.  Three  times  I  have  been  persuaded 
into  matrimony;  but  I  never  sold  myself.  All  my 
husbands  were  comfortably  off;  only  one  of  them 
was  rich — and  he  wouldn't  have  been  called  rich 
these  days. 

I  loathe  really  rich  men;  I  don't  know  what  it 
is,  but  there  is  something  repulsive  about  them ; 
they  seem  to  smell  of  money,  probably  from  their 
perpetual  contact  with  money.  Money  was  made 
to  be  spent,  I  think.  In  my  younger  days  money 
was  not  mentioned  in  Society,  indeed  the  mere 
appearance  of  money  in  too  great  quantities  was 
voted  the  height  of  vulgarity.  In  those  days  rich 
men  did  their  best  to  hide  the  fact  behind  an  old 
coat.  Society  was  far  pleasanter  then ;  one  could 
meet  such  charming  poor  men,  such  clever, 
brilliant  men  of  no  means,  and  one  could  flirt  with 
them,  poor  fellows !  without  the  slightest  danger 
to  either  party.  It  was  lovely !  To-day,  ugh !  it 
is  really  terribly  trying;  Society  reeks  of  money, 
and  one  has  to  spend  so  much  more  on  scent. 
Dublin  Society  is  the  least  offensive  in  this 
respect;  but  as  an  offset  Ireland  is  full  of  Sinn 
Feiners.  One  doesn't  know  where  to  go. 


74  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


XVII 

THE  one  thing  against  children  is  that  they  tend 
to  estrange  one  from  one's  friends.  This  is  a 
nuisance  when  one  has  children.  People  in  Eng- 
land are  beastly  about  all  children  ;  towards  babies 
their  attitude  is  abominable.  Even  father,  who 
really  seemed  glad  to  see  me  and  allowed  me  all 
sorts  of  amenities  from  his  laws,  flew  into  an  awful 
rage  when  he  heard  from  mother  that  I  was 
expecting  a  small  addition  to  the  family. 

"  You  can't  have  it  here,  my  dear,  we  haven't 
the  room,"  was  his  ultimatum.  To  which  he 
added:  "  Why  can't  you  women  manage  these 
things  properly?  " 

I  was  very  angry  with  him,  but,  naturally,  didn't 
show  it.  That  night  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to 
Edward,  full  of  adjectives  and  exclamation  marks. 

Of  course  I  know  now  all  about  restricting  the 
limits  of  one's  family  to  the  desired  proportions. 
But — well,  I  never  could  manage  it.  I  have 
always  a  sneaking  sympathy  with  young  married 
couples  who  exasperate  their  parents  by  having 
huge  families;  somehow  it  seems  natural  that  they 
should.  And  I  don't  believe  that  decent  people — 
that  is  people  who  love  each  other,  even  a  little 
bit,  can  conscientiously  prevent  children.  Now 
that  poor  dear  Edward  is  dead  and  buried  these 


POOR  DEAR  EDWARD  75 

many  years  I  often  think  that  there  was  quite  a 
lot  of  truth  in  his  theories  about  Nature.  He,  poor 
dear,  would  have  been  horrified  at  the  mere  notion 
of  deliberately  setting  out  to  circumvent  Nature; 
he  would  have  taken  to  a  solitary  hill  top  first. 
There  are,  I  know,  strong  arguments  in  favour  of 
young  people  without  sufficient  means  -remaining 
childless,  arguments  from  both  the  woman's  and 
the  man's  point  of  view.  But,  really,  it  is  a  mis- 
take, I  think.  For  when  the  time  comes  that 
means  do  justify  the  end,  then  -the  interested 
parties  discover,  to  their  surprise,  that  they  can't 
begin.  Of  course  they  can  adopt  someone  else's 
baby,  but  this  is  never  a  satisfactory  arrangement, 
for  no  decent  parents  are  going  to  give  up  a  decent 
baby,  are  they? 

From  the  paternal  roof  I  went  into  rooms. 
Luckily  I  found  a  landlady  who  had  had  ten 
children  herself  and  was  sympathetic.  She  was  a 
dear  old  thing,  who  had  once  been  "  cook  to 
gentry,"  as  she  said,  so  she  soon  became  devoted 
to  me.  Unfortunately  she  and  the  ayah  waged 
an  endless  racial  war,  which  made  things  rather 
uncomfortable. 

Then  came  a  cable  from  Edward  that  made  me 
alter  my  arrangements. 

He  suggested  that  I  should  go  at  once  to  his 
mother,  who  had  a  large  house  in  the  country,  nnd 
who,  according  to  Edward,  would  be  delighted  10 
have  me;  and  who  was  wonderful  with  children. 

This  required  some  acute  thought. 

Now  the  Italians  have  a  saying  that  the  only 


76  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

way  to  get  on  with  one's  mother-in-law  is  to  love 
her.  I  remembered  this,  and  it  counter-balanced 
all  the  awful  things  that  one  had  heard  about  in- 
laws  generally.  I  should  be  comfortable — tar 
more  so  than  in  rooms;  John  and  Evelyn  would 
have  someone  to  look  after  them  besides  the  ayah ; 
and  last  and  quite  least  Edward  would  be  pleased. 
I  somehow  thought  that  I  could  make  Edward's 
mother  love  me,  if  I  couldn't  love  her. 

That  night — I  always  write  my  letters  at  night 
in  bed — I  wrote  to  her. 

By  return  of  post  came  a  lovely  letter  which 
caused  me  to  give  notice  to  my  landlady,  with 
whom  I  parted  the  greatest  of  friends ;  one  might 
want  to  go  back  there,  one  never  knew. 

Edward's  mother — I  called  her  mother — was 
rather  like  Edward.  A  pity !  She  was  late 
Georgian ;  had  been  used  to  living  alone,  for  her 
husband — an  Admiral — had  been  lost  at  sea  when 
she  was  quite  young,  twenty-five  she  told  me ;  and 
she  was  accustomed  to  being  mistress  in  her  own 
house.  She  had  been  and  still  was  devoted  to  her 
husband,  and  had  brought  up  not  only  her  own 
family  of  four,  but  two  other  families.  The  bring- 
ing up  of  other  people's  children  was  her  hobby. 
This  had  prevented  her  from  feeling  lonely.  Poor 
thing  I  she  never  could  have  married  again ;  among 
other  things  she  had  a  moustache. 

Try  as  I  would  I  really  couldn't  love  Edward's 
mother.  So  I  set  about  making  her  love  me.  For 
almost  a  year  everything  went  swimmingly. 
"  Mother  "  managed  everything — except  the  ayah 


POOR  DEAR  EDWARD  77 

who  was  mine — and  the  children  became  devoted 
to  her.  She  understood  children — from  long 
practice,  I  suppose.  Every  week  she  would  write 
a  long  epistle  to  Edward,  a  sort  of  weekly  diary 
of  the  children's  behaviour  and,  I  suspected, 
mine. 

It  was  a  quiet  year,  for  one  thing  because  I  had 
plenty  to  do,  with  Edward  the  second — the  new 
baby,  christened  of  course  by  Edward's  mother, 
and  for  another  because  no  men  ever  came  to  the 
house.  Edward's  mother  did  not  approve  of  men. 

Edward's  brother,  who  was  married,  came  some- 
times, until  his  wife  disapproved.  He  was  an 
uninteresting  creature,  very  inferior  to  Edward. 
She  was  an  awful  woman  and  terribly  jealous. 
Fancy  women  being  jealous !  I  was  never  the 
teeniest  bit  jealous  of  either  of  my  husbands. 
Jealousy  in  a  woman  is  an  infallible  sign  that  she 
knows  that  her  husband  doesn't  love  her.  Silly 
creature !  she  ought  to  make  up  her  mind  and  her 
appearance  that  he  shall  love  her.  That's  what  a 
woman  was  made  for:  to  be  loved. 

Then  the  time  came  when  little  Edward  was 
ordered  to  the  nursery  to  join  his  brother  and 
sister;  the  ayah  was  sent — Edward  abetting — back 
to  India;  a  new  nurse,  middle-aged,  red-headed, 
and  horribly  prim  was  installed  in  her  stead ;  and 
I,  well  I  might  just  as  well  have  been  dead.  I 
should  have  died,  I'm  quite  sure  I  should,  if 
Edward  hadn't  gone  and  got  himself  killed  in  a 
frontier  campaign. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  day  the  cable  came.     We 


78  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

were  at  dinner.  I  was  sitting  between  Edward's 
mother  and  an  aunt  of  Edward's.  Edward's 
mother  opened  it.  Her  face  grew  stern ;  she  took 
off  her  spectacles  and  wiped  them  on  the  table 
napkin ;  passed  the  paper  across  me  to  her  sister ; 
sniffed  once  or  twice;  looked  at  me;  and  said: 
"  poor  child!  "  "  Thy  will  be  done,"  came  from 
the  other  side  of  me.  I  snatched  at  the  message. 
And  then — oh  I  I  don't  know  what  I  did;  I  felt  as 
if  I  was  going  mad.  It  was  so  cruel,  so  sudden ; 
and  I  am  not  a  Spartan.  I  don't  remember  but 
I  think  I  threw  something — the  bread  or  some- 
thing— at  Edward's  mother,  and  bolted  upstairs. 
I  wanted  to  be  alone;  I  must  be  alone;  I  couldn't 
even  cry  before  those  hard  old  Stoics  of  women. 


XVIII 

WIDOW'S  weeds  have  always  suited  me  remarkably 
well.  Black  always  sets  off  golden  hair;  so  I  have 
always  mourned  my  husbands  for  the  full  period. 
I  really  did  feel  poor  dear  Edward's  death  acutely, 
and  it  took  me  a  long,  long  time  to  realise  that  I 
should  have  to  live  my  life  without  him.  Little 
John,  who  remembered  him  best,  made  it  still 
more  difficult  to  forget;  he  was  always  asking: 
"  Where's  my  daddy?  "  and  his  great  grey  eyes 
would  look  almost  accusingly  at  me,  as  though  I 
were  responsible.  Perhaps — but  no,  it  was  Fate 


POOR  DEAR  EDWARD  79 

in  the  shape  of  an  Afghan  bullet  that  took  him. 
He  died  very  gallantly,  so  his  General  wrote. 

Little  John — I  always  used  to  call  him  that,  it 
was  his  father's  name  for  him — was  most  fussy 
and  comical  when  he  realised  that  his  daddy  was 
not  coming  home  any  more.  I  used  to  tell  him 
that  his  daddy  had  gone  away  on  a.  long  journey — 
he  understood  that,  but  when  Edward's  mother 
would  say  :  "  Your  father's  dead,"  he  would  shake 
his  curls,  stamp  his  foot  at  her,  and  say  "  No  ! 
no  !  no !  "  Edward's  last  words  to  him  had  been  : 
"  John,  my  son,  take  care  of  your  little  mother." 
And  John  remembered.  He  always  remembered, 
and  he  always  did  his  best  to  carry  out  those 
instructions  to  the  letter;  in  many  ways  he  was 
very  like  Edward.  At  times  this  was  most 
awkward. 

I  was  miserable  with  Edward's  mother.  We 
were  as  far  apart  as  the  poles,  she  and  I ;  and  she 
expected  me  to  emulate  her  example  and  live  a 
solitary  existence.  I  might  have  done,  who 
knows?  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Edward's  mother. 
From  morning  to  night  she  was  preaching  duty, 
duty  to  her  dead  son.  She  practically  usurped 
my  motherhood;  the  children  were  not  mine, 
but  her  son's. 

Then,  to  make  matters  worse,  I  discovered  that 
Edward  had  not  trusted  me.  His  money,  little 
enough  in  all  conscience,  he  had  left  in  trust  for 
the  children,  and  the  children  themselves  he  had 
made  wards  of  Court  and  named  his  wretched 
brother  as  joint  guardian  with  me.  To  this  day 


8o  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

I  can't  understand  his  doing  such  a  thing;  at  least 
he  must  have  known  something  of  his  brother. 
I  can  and  have  forgiven  Edward  everything  but 
that.  That  hurt  horribly,  and  I  can't  forget  it. 

The  final  row  was  over — not  a  man,  though  we 
had  many  on  that  score — but  a  tin  of  pineapple. 
Edward's  mother  insisted  that  tinned  pineapple 
was  good  for  children ;  I  said  it  wasn't.  She  gave 
it  to  them ;  I  took  it  away.  The  fat  was  in  the  fire. 
She  gritted  her  teeth — an  unpleasant  habit  of  hers 
when  angry ;  I  stamped  my  foot.  The  red-headed 
nurse  took  her  part.  Edward's  brother  was  called 
in ;  he  took  her  part.  Next  day  T  left  without  the 
nurse  and  with  the  three  children.  Goodness  knows 
how  we  would  have  managed  if  it  hadn't  been  that 
a  friend  of  mine,  a  young  naval  officer,  happened 
to  be  going  that  same  morning  to  Southsea. 

We  went  back  to  my  old  landlady,  who  cried 
over  us,  and  took  us  all  to  her  bosom — she  was  very 
fat.  She  helped  me  to  find  a  nurse. 

We  might  have  been  there  to  this  day  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  Chancery  Court.  Edward's  brother, 
wretched  creature,  had  influence;  I  had  none — 
then.  He  was  a  most  respected  member  of  a  dull 
set  of  rustics  who  called  themselves  "  The 
County;  "  also  he  was  an  M.P. — one  of  those 
foolish  creatures  who  look  wise  and  say  nothing — 
except  to  their  wives.  I  was — goodness  only 
knows  what  I  was  by  the  time  he  had  finished 
with  me.  Certainly  I  was  not  fit  to  bring  up  my 
own  children.  The  Court,  pending  a  decision^ 
ordered  me  not  to  leave  England.  I  hate  orders, 


POOR    DEAR    EDWARD  81 

and  went  to  Rome.  But  I  soon  discovered  that 
my  two  hundred  a  year,  paid  quarterly,  was  not 
sufficient.  I  wrote  to  father,  and  he  advised  me 
to  come  home ;  his  letter  contained  a  cheque  for 
twenty  pounds — generosity  was  never  his  strong 
point,  as  I  think  I  mentioned. 

However  I  stayed  in  Rome,  very  quietly  in 
cheap  rooms.  I  knew  Rome  and  could  speak 
Italian,  as  father  had  had  my  voice  trained 
there.  But  Rome  is  Rome,  and  expensive.  I 
pawned,  yes  actually  pawned  a  lot  of  my  jewellery, 
when  to  my  horror  my  quarterly  allowance  failed 
to  appear.  Edward's  brother,  horrid  animal,  was 
also  my  trustee. 

It  was  a  disgusting  position  !  I  owed  bills  every- 
where— I  must  say  the  Italian  shopkeepers  were 
most  obliging  people.  I  always  used  to  take  them 
into  my  confidence — needs  must  when  the  Devil 
drives — and  they  never  failed  me.  I  even  owed 
nurse  money.  Dear  rturse !  she  was  a  treasure. 
She  is  the  proud  possessor  of  a  milliner's  shop 
in  the  West  End  .now,  a  most  important  lady  !  but 
she  is  never  important  with  me.  Perhaps  because 
I — well  Roger  (my  second  husband)  lent  her  a  little 
money  to  open  her  shop,  a  tiny  affair  in  those  days. 

Then  I  remembered  my  voice — the  best  voice 

in  all  India  Lord  L had  said.  I  went  to  my 

old  master  who  was  luckily  still  alive,  Signor 

M ,,  and  told  him  my  sad  story.  He  was 

delighted,  and  hugged  me.  A  dear  old  man  !  I 
might  have  been  something  wonderful  in  opera, 
if  a  curious  thing  hadn't  happened. 


82  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

One  niglbt  when  I  got  back  from  the  opera  house 

— Signer  M had  got  me  a  small  part — I  found 

a  card  lying  on  my  table  which  read :  Captain 

Roger  O ,  I. M.S.  I  think  I  have  mentioned 

Captain  O before;  he  was  the  doctor  at 

D— — -.  Nurse,  who  always  used  to  sit-  up  for 
me,  was  fearfully  excited  and  scented  Romance. 
She  is  still  most  romantic,  poor  thing,  being 
unmarried;  and  even  now  weaves  the  most 
wonderful  tales  round  the  customers  who  order 
their  trousseaux  from  her.  "  The  gentleman  was 
tall  " — I  always  like  tall  men,  because  I  am  so 
small  myself,  I  suppose,  "  and  so  good-looking, 
with  curly  black  hair  and  brown  eyes,  and  very 
clever-looking.  And  " — clasping  her  hands — 
"  he  was  most  excited  like,  and  said,  '  found  at 
last  '  just  as^they  does  in  novels.  And " 

11  And  what  else,  Tiny?  "  I  asked — I  always 
called  her  "  Tiny,"  she  was  so  big. 

"  And  he  asked  all  sorts  of  questions  about 
you,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,"  said  I.     "  Did  he.     What  then?  " 

"  And  he  told  me  that  he  was  lookin'  for  you 
for  months  and  months,  that  he  had  almost  lost  all 
hope  when  he  happened  to  see  something  in  the 
paper  about  a  law  case  about  Master  John  and 
Miss  Evelyn.  He  was  surprised  to  see  baby." 

"  Did  he  ask  to  see  the  children,  Tiny?  " 
There  was  something  rather  attractive  about 
Captain  O ;. 

"Yes;  and*' — Tiny's  eyes  began  to  glisten 
unnaturally — '•'  he  kissed  them,  and  Master  John 


83 

woke  up  and  said,  '  Daddy  ' — and  wasn't  he  just 
pleased  I  " 

"  Who?  " 

14  The  gentleman,  nia'am." 

"  Tiny,  I'm  tired,"  I  said. 

"  He's  coming  round  at  eleven  o'clock  to- 
morrow. He  wanted  to  come  earlier,  but  I  said 
that  you'd  bound  to  be  tired,  poor  little  lamb !  *' 

I  was  dead  tired;  but  I  couldn't  sleep  for  a 
long,  long  time.  When  I  did,  it  was  to  dream 
of  poor  dear  Edward.  Dreams  are  such  funny 
things,  aren't  they? 


NUMBER  TWO 

ROGER 

I 

CAPTAIN  O had  not  altered  much.  He 
was  an  awfully  nice  boy  and  only  a  few 
years  older  than  myself.  Really  and  truly 
he  was  ever  so  much  younger.  I  suppose  there 
could  never  have  been  a  man  more  unlike  Edward. 

Edward  was  English  with  a  dash  of  Scotch ; 

Captain  O was  a  typical  Irishman.  Edward 

had  grey  eyes,  earnest  eyes  that  could  look  a  little 
pathetic  sometimes,  sometimes  a  little  angry;  but 
very  seldom,  for  Edward  seemed  to  have  his  eyes 

under  control.  Captain  O had  brown  eyes, 

eyes  that  laughed  one  moment  and  looked  positively 
pathetic  the  next,  great  big  limpid  brown  eyes, 
almost  mysterious-looking  under  the  long  lashes. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  watch  Captain  O 's  eyes, 

for  there  one  could  see  all  the  workings  of  his  mind. 
He  was  very  clever ;  brilliant  I  might  say. 

An  Englishman  is  such  a  simple  soul ;  he  thinks 
Dimply  and  acts  simply.  He  is  always  just,  always 
impartial,  a  self-centred  creature  who  seems 
immune  to  emotions,  uninfluenced  by  his  surround- 
ings. Thai  i.s  the  reason,  I  suppose,  thai  an 

35 


86  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Englishman  is  always  respected,  and  never  loved; 
why  he  can  rule,  and  be  ruled.  An  Englishman 
is  big,  never  great;  logically  clever,  seldom 
brilliantly  illogical.  I  always  think  that  the 
Romans  must  have  been  very  like  the  English. 
Art  and  music  are  impossible  to  an  Englishman, 
and  when  he  becomes  artistic  he  seems  to  go  to 
pot.  His  sphere  seems  to  be  to  steady  other  people. 
He  is  the  ballast  of  the  world — rather  uninteresting 
— I  think. 

But  the  Irishman,  oh!  how  different.  Nothing 
simple  about  him.  A  creature  of  moods  and 
subtleties,  swayed  by  the  very  atmosphere  around 
him.  Not  a  man,  but  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  at  the 
mercy  of  every  wind  that  blows.  Triumphant, 
brilliant,  sparkling  one  moment;  abject  and  utterly 
miserable  the  next.  I  would  hate  to  be  ruled  by 
an  Irishman,  but  to  be  made  love  to — Mon 
Dieul 

Edward  and  Captain  O had  only  two  points 

of  resemblance.  Both  were  tall,  and  both  loved  me. 

It  was  delightful  to  meet  an  old  friend  from 
India ;  and  how  we  chattered  and  laughed — laughed 
till  the  tears  came — of  little  people  whom  we  had 
known,  and  little  things.  With  Edward  it  was 
always  the  big  things  that  mattered. 

Captain  O respected  Edward  as  one  always 

respects  something  that  one  cannot  understand. 
He  spoke  of  him  as  a  child  might  speak  about  the 
moon,  rather  wonderingly,  a  little  wistfully.  He 
never  could  understand  why  I  had  married  Edward  ; 
which  was  not  surprising.  "  You  remind  me  of  a 


ROGER  87 

butterfly  resting  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  granite 
boulder,"  he  had  once  said.  Then  he  had  laughed : 
"  Presently  the  butterfly  will  want  to  fly  away  to 
the  flowers  and  the  sunshine." 

We  talked  a  great  deal  about  Edward.  Captain 

O was  with  him  when  he  died.  Poor  dear 

Edward  had  been  shot  through  the  lungs  and  had 
fought  death  grimly  for  many  days.  His  last 

words  had  been  typical:  "  O ,  you  are  fond  of 

my  wife — no  offence — but  you  are,  everyone  is. 

You  are  a  good  chap,  O .  Take  care  of  my 

little  wife."  And  then  he  died.  "  A  big  man!  " 
said  Roger,  tearfully,  very  tenderly.  Then 
whimsically :  "  Too  big  and  too  good  for  you  and 
me." 

Then  he  showed  me  a  photograph  of  the  grave, 
with  its  plain  granite  cross  and  the  inscription : 
"  Here  lies  a  man/'  "  I  had  it  done  myself,"  he 
said.  "  Somehow  I  thought  you'd  like  it.  Rather 
original,  isn't  it?  "  He  was  an  understanding 
man,  Roger. 

Of  course  he  stayed  to  lunch,  and  the  children 
were  delighted  with  him,  because,  I  suppose,  he  had 
brought  them  a  large  package  of  toys  and  sweets. 
Most  thoughtful  of  him,  I  thought.  And  oh !  how 
he  made  me  laugh ;  he  was  like  a  tonic.  He 
described  how  he  had — "  wangled,"  my  son  calls 
it — leave  from  the  Colonel ;  how  already  he  had  had 
two  extensions  on  full  pay.  "  I  am  ill  you  know, 
heart!  "  (I  could  see  he  was);  how  he  had  scoured 
all  England,  having  lost  Edward's  mother's 
address  (just  like  him  I) ;  how  he  had  paid  a  visit 


83  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

to  Edward's  brother  and  asked  to  see  his  wife,  under 
the  impression  that  it  might  be  me.     "  I  announced 

myself  as  a  friend  of  Mrs  M from  India,"  he 

explained,  "  quite  expecting  to  see  you.  And 
then — oh  Lord !  what  a  woman.  They  say  he 
drinks.  I  don't  wonder";  how  they  had  been 
most  "  sniffy  "  to  him.  Said  they  didn't  know 
where  I  was;  that  they  had  heard  that  I  was 
something  on  the  stage — "  just  what  she  would 
do,"  loud  sniff — this  from  Edward's  brother's  wife; 
that  I  was — well  that  the  Court  was  looking  for  me. 
'  That  last  rather  frightened  me,"  said  Roger. 
"  One  never  quite  knows  what  you  might  be  doing. 
Then  I  met  some  old  friends  in  town,  and  we  had  a 
very  gay  time." 

"  And  you  forgot  all  about  poor  little  me?  " 

"  Oh!  no,  you  were  there — I  couldn't  forget  you 
— in  the  back  of  my  mind,  that's  all." 

"  And  how  did  you  find  me?  " 

"  Well  I  saw  an  account  in  the  '  Times,'  quite  by 
accident,  that  the  Chancery  Court  had  given  the 
custody  of  the  children  to  your  brother-in-law. 
And  do  you  know  they  know  all  about  you,"  he 
added.  "  Must  have  had  detectives  after  you." 

"  Brutes!  "  I  said. 

"  I  got  your  address  from  them,  said  I  had 
important  papers  from  your  husband.  Then  I 
caught  the  first  boat  train  ;  and  here  I  am." 

"  Now  what  are  we  going  to  do?  "  I  asked. 
11  What  would  you  advise?  " 

"  Well — er — suppose  we  send  thr  children  lo 
the  nursc-ry." 


ROGER  89 

I  rang  for  nurse — it  was  their  sleepy  time. 
Roger  shook  hands  with  her,  and  kissed  all  the 
children.  He  was  always  rather  fond  of  kissing. 


II 

I  WASN'T  in  the  least  in  love  with  Roger,  but 
somehow  he  swept  me  off  my  feet.  His  lovemaking 
was  like  a  tornado,  crushed  all  resistance  out  of  one, 
and  left  one  rather  limp  and  exhausted.  Then 
again  he  was  very  crafty.  "  If  you  marry  me," 
he  said,  "  then  I,  as  your  husband,  can  fight  the 
Court  for  the  children .  My  father's  a  Judge — 
decent  old  buffer — and  he'll  be  useful.  They  can't 
take  away  my  character." 

"  What  about  ways  and  means,  Roger?  I  can't 
marry  a  poor  man — at  least  not  a  very  poor  one. 
You  know  that." 

"  I'm  not  rich,"  said  Roger.  "  I've  got  eight 
hundred  a  year,  besides  my  pay,  and  expectations 
when  the  old  man  hops  the  twig,  and " 

"  And  I've  got  two  hundred." 

"  And  three  children." 

"  Heaps!  "said  I. 

"  Quite  enough,"  said  Roger. 

We  both  laughed. 

And  then  we  forgot  all  about  money. 


90  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


III 

ROGER  was  a  Roman  Catholic.  Goodness  knows 
what  I  was;  I  hadn't  worried  about  such  things.  I 
always  think  Church-religion  should  belong  to  the 
old.  What  on  earth  is  the  use  of  bothering  about 
a  future  life,  when  one's  only  just  begun  to  live 
in  the  present.  Orthodoxly-religious  people 
always  seem  to  miss  so  much.  They  believe  in  a 
wonderful  God,  Who  made  the  world;  and  in  the 
same  breath  they  condemn  what  He  made.  This 
seems  to  me  silly  to  say  the -least  of  it. 

Of  course  I  was  born  and  educated  in  the 
Church  of  England — I  think  that's  the  right 
expression.  I  had  been  baptised  in  the  presence 
of  various  godfathers  and  godmothers — carefully 
selected  by  father  with  a  view  to  their  future 
utility  I  suppose;  dragged  to  church  on  Sundays 
— a  gloomy  place  which  I  hated  almost  as  much 
as  I  did  the  dentist's;  confirmed  in  due  season  by 
a  stout  Bishop,  who  made  me  want  to  giggle;  and 
that  was  all. 

Roger  made  rather  a  fuss  about  his  being  a 
Roman  Catholic;  Roman  Catholics  always  do. 
They  seem  to  consider  themselves  rather  select, 
and  I  am  quite  sure  that  they  believe,  most 
devoutly,  that  there  is  a  special  little  Heaven  set 


ROGER  91 

apart  for  them  somewhere.  Roger  was  very  much 
in  love  with  me,  which  I  think  I  mentioned  before, 
and  he  seemed  to  imply  that  I  was  in  danger  of 
not  going  to  his  Heaven  unless  I  became  a 
Catholic.  "  Then  I  suppose  I  shall  go  to  where 
Edward  is,"  I  sighed.  That  made  him  redouble 
his  efforts  to  convert  me. 

I  was  an  easy  convert;  Roger  was  rather  boring 
when  he  talked  religion.  So  I  was  received  into 
the  Church  by  a  charming  old  priest.  It  was  quite 
easy,  really,  but  I  was  rather  confused  I  remember 
by  the  mortal  and  the  everyday  sins;  I  think  it's 
wonderfully  clever  the  way  they  have  separated 
them,  and  it  makes  confession  so  simple — if  one 
doesn't  forget  at  the  critical  moment.  But  oh ! 
how  I  would  hate  to  be  a  priestess — I  suppose  we 
shall  be  having  them  soon,  now  that  the  man 
shortage  is  getting  so  acute.  Just  fancy  listening 
all  day  long  to  people's  petty  little  sins;  rather 
sickening  1  A  really  interesting  mortal  sin,  some- 
thing thoroughly  bad,  must  be  a  relief.  But  I 
don't  think  people  confess  their  bad  sins,  at  least 
I  wouldn't.  One  can't  sin  badly  by  oneself,  and  I 
don't  think  it  would  be  loyal  to  confess  somebody 
else's  sin.  I  love  loyalty.  Men  are  almost  always 
loyal;  very  few  women.  There's  something  big 
about  loyalty.  I  don't  mean  just  loyalty  to  a  king, 
but  to  one's  friends.  It's  fine  to  know  that  you 
can  count  on  your  friend,  no  matter  what  you  do ; 
that  if  you  are  on  a  pedestal  he  will  be  there  with 
smelling  salts,  in  case  you  get  giddy ;  and  that  when 
you  fall  off,  he  will  be  there  to  pick  you  up.  Just 


92  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

fancy  if  women  weie  loyal  like  that!  Mr  Lloyd 
George  wouldn't  have  to  scratch  his  head  so  over 
the  new  world,  would  he?  I  do  wish  I  could  be 
loyal,  like  that.  But  loyalty  is  somehow  or  other 
mixed  up  with  love;  and  I've  never  been  in  love 
for  very  long.  However,  I  suppose  that  there  is 
hope  for  one  becoming  good  sometime,  when  one 
can  appreciate  good — in  others,  I  mean ;  for  myself 
I  find  it  so  difficult. 

Between  the  interval  of  being  converted  and 
getting  married  I  made  a  discovery  that  very 
nearly  postponed  the  wedding  indefinitely:  Roger 
was  not  nearly  as  good  a  man  as  Edward.  That 
is  the  one.  trouble  about  having  more  than  one 
husband,  it's  quite  impossible  to  prevent  oneself 
comparing  them;  and  everyone  knows  that  com- 
parisons are  odious  and  that  the  dead  are  bound 
to  get  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Roger  told  lies. 
Now  I  tell  lies,  beautifully,  and  I  always  know 
when  people  are  telling  lies,  beautifully;  the  only 
time  I  am  ever  taken  in  is  when  people  tell  lies 
badly.  If  Edward  had  ever  wanted  to  tell  me  a 
lie,  he  would  have  stuttered  and  stammered, 
hummed  and  hawed,  coughed,  and  got  red  about 
the  ears.  Then  I  should  have  looked  at  him  and 
said:  "  Edward  1  "  in  a  tone  of  horror;  and  he 
would  have  told  the  truth — or  at  least  1  should  have 
taken  it  to  be  true,  whatever  he  might  have  said. 
A  bad  liar  lies  badly  because  he  is  in  two  minds, 
and  one  can  see  the  tussle  going  on  in  his  face. 
A  good  liar  is  nicely  past  the  tussle  stage. 

Roger  was  a  beautiful  liar. 


ROGER  93 

One  day  little  John,  feeling  about  in  Roger's 
pockets  for  sweets,  pulled  out  a  letter.  Now  I  am 
observant  as  well  as  intuitive.  Obviously  it  was 
an  old  letter;  equally  obviously  it  was  written  by 
a  woman — young;  also  it  came  from  his  left  hand, 
inside,  breast  pocket — the  pocket  in  which  men 
carry  about  their  treasures :  photos,  cheque  books, 
pocketbooks,  and  love  letters. 

Roger  never  turned  a  hair.  What  is  more, 
deceitful  wretch !  he  picked  the  letter  up  from  the 
floor  and  with  the  utmost  sang  froid  threw  it 
into  the  wastepaper-basket — meaning  no  doubt  to 
recover  it  later  on.  For  if  he  had  wanted  to  throw 
it  away  he  wouldn't  have  treasured  it  for  weeks 
certainly,  if  not  for  years,  would  he? 

Now  Edward  under  similar  conditions  would 
have  looked  uncomfortable  and  put  the  letter  back 
in  his  pocket.  That  would  have  been  at  least 
honest  and  loyal  to  the  lady. 

I  looked  at  Roger  and  smiled.  Roger  looked 
at  me,  with  the  sweetest  expression  imaginable. 
I  looked  at  the  letter  in  the  wastepaper-basket. 

"  A  beastly  bill,"  said  Roger. 

"  It  looks  very  old,"  I  said. 

"  Haven't  worn  this  coat  for  years,"  said 
Roger. 

"  It  looks  quite  the  latest  style,"  I  said,  sweetly. 
That  had  him  cornered,  I  thought. 

"  Men's  fashions  don't  change  much,"  said 
Roger. 

"  It  looks  more  like  Bond  Street  than  Bombay," 
I  said.  Roger,  I  must  explain,  had  gone  to  India 


94  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

when  quite  young  and  had  spent  his  leaves  in 
India.  That  I  knew. 

"  I  always  leave  a  lot  of  my  kit  with  King 
&  Co.,"  said  Roger.  He  was  a  fluent  liar. 

"  Were  you  born  in  India?  And  did  you  run 
up  bills  when  you  were  so  very  young?  "  I  asked. 
The  envelope  had  an  Indian  stamp,  and  intuition 
told  me  that  an  Indian  bill  could  scarcely  have  got 
into  the  pocket  of  a  coat  c/o  King  &  Co.  Besides 
it  was  a  woman's  writing. 

Roger  lowered  his  eyes  for  a  moment  to  think 
unobserved.  "  What  a  fuss  about  a  beastly  old 
bill,"  he  murmured  after  a  short  pause.  Then: 
"  Here,  see  for  yourself  if  you  doubt  my  word." 
And  he  actually  made  a  movement  towards  the 
wastepaper-basket ! 

"  Roger,  why  tell  lies  to  me?  So  soon,"  I 
added  pathetically. 

He  stopped  short,  and  began  to  pull  his  mous- 
tache. 

"  Who  is  the  woman?  "  I  asked  sternly. 

"  It's  that — well  you  wouldn't  know  her — she's 
after  your  time,"  said  Roger.  "  Anyhow  she's 
in  the  wastepaper-basket  now."  And  he  laughed. 


ROGER  95 


IV 

IT  wasn't  that  I  minded  so  much  about  Roger 
being  a  liar,  for  I  knew  that  I  could  make  him 
truthful ;  one  liar  can  always  cure  another.  It  was 
his  lack  of  loyalty.  I  suppose  he  thought  that  I 
would  be  jealous.  Little  he  knew  about  me! 

Roger  received  my  long  sermon  on  loyalty 
rather  nicely  and  quite  submissively.  So  I  forgave 
him.  He  was  such  a  baby,  really,  and  I  felt  sorry 
for  him.  Before  we  were  married  he  gave  me  a 
full  account  of  his  indiscretions,  down  to  the 
smallest  detail.  I  do  believe  he  wanted  to  shock 
me,  silly  creature  1  Of  course  I  pretended  to  be 
very  shocked,  but  afterwards — when  I  was  alone — 
how  I  laughed;  they  were  such  innocent  little 
indiscretions.  I  wonder  what  he  would  have 
thought  if  I  had  laid  bare  my — what  is  it  that 
makes  one  sin,  I  wonder?  certainly  not  one's  soul 
— to  him. 

We  were  married  very  quietly,  and  I  did  not 
make  the  children  bridesmaids  and  pages.  Per- 
sonally I  think  it  is  a  loathsome  habit  to  make  the 
children  of  one's  former  husband  or  wife,  as  the 
case  may  be,  perform  at  one's  wedding  with 
number  two,  three,  or  four  as  the  case  may  be. 


96  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

I  don't  care  how  fashionable  if  may  be.  I  think 
it  beastly! 

I  suppose  that  I  am  a  strange  woman,  rather 
unique  in  some  ways,  but  I  won't  be  tied  down  by 
any  silly  fashion  just  because  it  is  popular  and  is 
labelled  the  fashion.  I  am  not  going  to  make 
myself  look  hideous  to  please  anybody.  I  know 
what  suits  me,  and  I  don't  care  a  rap  what  suits 
other  women.  I  have  .always  been  myself,  and 
have  no  intention  of  becoming  one  of  a  herd. 

Most  women  are  like  sheep.  They  are  afraid 
of  being  different  to  their  sisters.  Not  I.  My 
chief  joy  in  life  is  to  be  different.  Men  say :  "  how 
different  you  are  to  other  women  " ;  they  are  quite 
right,  I  am — outwardly  at  all  events.  Men  love 
women  with  their  eyes,  and  the  clever  woman  will 
always  set  a  feast  before  her  husband's  or  lover's 
eyes;  it  is  far  more  appreciated  than  a  good 
dinner — whatever  the  wiseacres  may  say — besides 
one  can  always  hire  a  good  cook,  even  to-day,  if 
one  has  tact,  and  is  nice  to  the  cook. 

There  was  a  time  when  I  used  to  smoke ;  very  few 
women  did  it  then — daintily.  I  tfon't  smoke  now. 

Of  course  one  mustn't  force  one's  opinions  upon 
other  people;  that  is  not  policy,  and  besides  it  is 
frightfully  boring  to  have  people  preaching  at  one. 
A  preacher  is  never  popular  unless  he  preaches 
popular  opinions.  Christ  was  crucified  because 
he  was  unpopular;  our  modern  prophets  seldom 
make  the  same  mistake.  The  way  to  get  people 
to  imitate  you  is  to  do  things  nicely;  and  one 
doesn't  mind  being  followed  by  a  few  intelligent 


ROGER  97 

people— at  least  I  don't.  Sheep  won't  follow 
anyone;  they  have  to  be  driven.  So  we  can  leave 
Fashion  to  "  lead  "  sheep,  can't  we? 

Poor  million  man-less  sisters,  you  will  realise 
one  day  that  Fashion  was  only  invented  by  the 
greedy  people  who  sell  you  clothes,  and  hats,  and 
things  to  make  you  buy  new  ones  before  the 
old  are  even  soiled.  A  splendid  idea  when  one 
has  a  stingy  husband  to  foot  the  bills.  Thank 
goodness  none  of  my  husbands  were  stingy; 
I  shouldn't  have  married  them  if  they  had 
been. 

Roger  was  frightfully  generous,  and  I  really 
began  to  get  quite  frightened  at  the  way  he  spent 
money.  No  lakes,  nor  rocky  mountains  played 
any  part  in  our  honeymoon.  Roger  knew  more 
about  women  than  poor  dear  Edward. 

Looking  back,  my  married  life  with  Roger  was 
not  unlike  a  protracted  honeymoon,  that  is  until 
we  settled  down  in  Harley  Street.  Then  it 
became  a — but  I  am  getting  ahead  of  the  story. 
From  Rome  we  went  to  London.  There  I  had  quite 

a  turn,  for  one  day — we  were  staying  at  B 

Hotel,  South  Kensington,  an  awful  object  in  a  top- 
hat  appeared  and  demanded  to  see  me.  I  saw  and 
heard  him  from  the  lounge,  and  bolted  upstairs. 
I  told  Roger  to  go  and  see  who  it  was — I  didn't 
know  the  name  on  the  card.  After  a  while 
Roger  returned.  "  They  have  sent  about  the 
children,"  was  all  he  said. 

'  Is  it  the  Court?  "  I  asked  anxiously.  I  have 
a  horror  of  Courts — nasty  low  places  1 


98  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"  It's  your  brother-in-law's  solicitor,"  said 
Roger. 

"  Tell  him  to  go  away." 

"  I  have,"  said  Roger,  "  but  he  won't." 

"  Give  him  some  lunch,"  I  said.  "  And, 
Roger,  plenty  of  whisky.  Solicitors  always 
drink." 

While  they  were  at  lunch  I  and  nurse  took  the 

children  in  a  closed  cab  round  to  H Gardens, 

where  an  aunt  of  mine  lived.  Aunt  Matilda  had 
a  heart  only  slightly  turned  but  not  actually  soured 
by  her  man-less  existence.  I  was  persuasive  and 
rather  tearful  so  she  took  the  children  in.  I  left 
Tiny  in  charge  with  explicit  instructions. 

When  I  got  back  to  the  Hotel,  pleased  at  the 
present,  but  rather  fearful  of  the  future,  I  was  told 
by  the  manager  that  Roger  and  the  "  gentleman  " 
had  gone  out  together  in  a  hansom;  the  manager 
was  a  little  foreign  so  I  forgave  him  his  descrip- 
tion of  Edward's  brother's  solicitor,  foreigners  so 
often  judge  people  by  their  hats. 

I  spent  the  afternoon  in  making  and  unmaking 
plans.  I  was  not  going  to  lose  my  children,  what- 
ever the  Law  said  about  it.  The  children  were 
mine,  made  by  me  and  Edward.  I  remember 
wishing  very  much  that  Edward  had  been  alive; 
he  was  always  such  a  pillar  of  strength,  and  if  he 
had  been  with  me  there  would  have  been  none  of 
this  bother.  Somehow  I  couldn't  rely  upon  Roger 
to  the  same  extent.  I  began  to  wonder  what 
had  happened  to  Roger;  he  should  have  been 
back  long  ago.  Certainly  he  had  been  rather 


ROGER  99 

clever  in  getting  rid  of  the  solicitor,  nasty 
creature  I 

I  detest  solicitors,  lawyers,  barristers,  judges, 
and  everyone  connected  with  the  Law,  somehow 
they  always  make  me  feel  wicked,  and  they  never 
seem  to  me  to  be  men,  they  are  always  so  wooden. 
Not  so  very  long  ago  solicitors  were  not  considered 

respectable,  and  my  Uncle  Sir  G T used 

to  say  that  the  proper  place  for  them  was  the 
servants'  hall;  but  then  he  really  did  hate  them; 
he  used  to  say  that  lawyers  were  responsible  for 
three  quarters  of  the  trouble  in  Ireland  and  at  least 
half  of  the  trouble  in  the  world.  But  they  got 
their  own  back  when  he  died ;  for  he  made  out  his 
will  himself  and  left  everything  to  his  wife  because 
11  she  is  the  person  most  fitted  to  administer  the 
estate,"  I  think  it  went.  Anyhow  the  Law  stepped 
in  and  proved  that  she  wasn't  fit,  and  appointed 

two  lawyers  to  administer  it.     Poor  Uncle  G ! 

I  wonder  that  he  hasn't  tried  to  communicate  his 
views  through  Sir  A- C D or  someone. 

Talking  of  the  Law,  I  have  been  working  very 
hard  on  the  question  of  women  lawyers.  At  least 
they  wouldn't  be  so  wooden.  Another  thing  I  am 
in  favour  of — I  have  written  to  the  Labour  Party 
about  it — and  this  is  the  nationalisation  of  lawyers, 
barristers  and  all  their  ilk.  They  ought  to  be 
nationalised;  then  the  Law  wouldn't  be  such  a 
popular  profession.  Of  course  there  would  have 
to  be  a  Controller,  and  I  should  like  to  see  a  man 

like  Mr  G.  K.  C appointed.     He  would  be  far 

more  amusing  than  Justice  D ,  and  ever  so 


ioo  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

much  more  imposing  than  Lord  what's  his  name 

who  used  to  be  Sir  F.  E.  S ,  and  somehow  one 

knows  he  would  be  honest;  and  honesty  is  rather 
necessary  to  the  Law,  isn't  it  ?  or  at  least  it  ought 
to  be. 

I  am  afraid  I  am  becoming  a  bit  of  a  politician 
these  days.  If  I  don't  marry  again  soon  I  think 
I  shall  have  to  go  into  politics.  I  did  speak  once 
in  the  Albert  Hall — I  forget  what  it  was  all  about 
— it  was  great  fun,  and  everyone  was  very  amused. 
I  must  say  that  I  think  Politics  a  little  more 
respectable  than  the  stage. 

I  was  in  bed  when  Roger  arrived.  He  was  in 
very  high  spirits — in  fact  most  exuberant.  He 
never  got  sleepy  after  staying  up  late  like  some 
men  do. 

"  Why  didn't  you  stay  out  all  night?  "  I  asked 
him. 

He  looked  indignant.  "  A  nice  way  to  welcome 
your  obedient  husband,"  he  grumbled. 

"  I  told  you  to  give  him  lunch,  not  tea  and  dinner 
and  supper  as  well." 

"  Didn't  you  say  plenty  of  whisky?  " 

"  He  must  have  been  extra  wooden." 

"  He  was,"  said  Roger.  "  But  I — is  there  a 
syphon  of  soda  anywhere?  I  fixed  him." 

'•'  What  happened?  "  Roger  was  always 
interesting  even  at  midnight. 

"  Well,  I  gave  him  lunch  and  two  or  three 
whiskies  and  soda,  and  a  bottle  of  the  boy,  and  a 
liqueur  brandy  or  two,  and  then  he  became  rather 
amusing;  told  me  he  hadn't  been  to  town  by  him- 


ROGER  101 

self  for  years.  Remembering  your  instructions, 
darling,  I  gave  him  his  head.  Phew  I  how  the  old 
buffer  did  travel.  Goodness  knows  where  we 
haven't  been — nowhere  respectable.  I  was  afraid 
I  might  run  into  friends  and  then  where  would  our 
reputation  have  been?  " 

"  Very  considerate  of  you,  Roger.    Go  on." 

11  I  don't  believe  the  fellow  was  a  solicitor  at 
all." 

11  Roger!  " 

"  I've  been  thinking  it  over,  and  I  believe  he 
must  have  been  a  detective." 

41  Roger!  "' 

"  Employed  by  poor  dear  Edward's  delightful 
brother  to  detect " 

"  What,  Roger?  " 

"  My  character." 

"  Oh,  Roger!  did  you  do  anything  very  dread- 
ful? "  I  asked,  when  the  shock  had  subsided. 

11  Well  that  depends  on  what  one  calls  dreadful. 
It  wouldn't  be  considered  anything  in  Ireland,  or 
for  that  matter  in  any  decent  Society." 

"  Roger!" 

1  You  see  he  became  dreadfully  drunk  and 
rather  a  nuisance — wanted  to  fight,  so  I  knocked 
him  down,  smashed  in  his  topper,  and  gave  him 
in  charge  for  assault  and  battery — the  bobby  was 
Irish." 

'  Roger,  do  you  know  that  in  some  respects 
you  are  rather  like  poor  dear  Edward,"  I 
said. 

Roger  looked  doubtful. 


102  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"  Don't  you  remember  when  he  threw  the  feed- 
ing bottle  at  you  ?  " 

Roger  said  damn  two  or  three  times. 


V 

I  GOT  an  extension  of  leave  for  Roger,  a  cheque 
from  father — after  talking  steadily  for  two  hours, 
and  for  two  months  we  made  the  Chancery  Court 
look  blue.  It  was  glorious  1  Tiny,  who  was 
splendid,  and  the  children  enjoyed  themselves 
tremendously ;  so  did  I  and  Roger — at  least  I  think 
Roger  did.  Of  course  he  was  fretting  to  get  back 
to  his  profession,  but  he  couldn't  with  the 
children's  future  so  unsettled.  We  travelled 
extensively.  Usually  Roger  was  Tiny's  husband 
and  took  two  of  the  children,  and  I  was  the  lonely 
widow  with  one.  Then  as  bad  luck  would  have 
it  the  children  got  scarlet  fever;  and  we  were 
found  out.  We  were  allowed  to  nurse  them  back 
to  health,  and  then  they  were  carted  away  to 
Edward's  mother.  It  was  awful !  and  naturally 
everyone  was  fearfully  upset — except  the  children, 
who  thought  it  was  a  great  joke,  poor  little  mites. 
Roger  was  very  kind,  and  took  me  off  to  Monte 
Carlo  to  "  drown  my  sorrow,"  he  said.  Goodness 
knows  where  he  got  the  money  from. 

I   was   wild,  and   when   a   woman   is   wild  she 


ROGER  103 

becomes  rather  fun.  Roger  was  in  high  feather. 
We  did  everything.  Every  night  we  gambled; 
and  I  think  Roger  became  rather  frightened.  I 
love  gambling;  dreadful  isn't  it?  It  isn't  the 
money  that  attracts  me,  but  the  excitement.  I 
don't  know  anything  more  exciting  than  roulette. 
Of  course  I  never  could  play  a  system — only 
money  grubbers  do  that.  I  like  to  think  of  a 
number  and  put  a  lot  of  money  on  it.  They  say 
people  who  are  lucky  in  love  are  unlucky  at 
gambling.  Rubbish  I  I  am  awfully  lucky  at 
both.  One  night  I  won  eight  hundred  pounds. 
Something  told  me  that  number  seven  would  win, 
and  I  put  all  my  remaining  louis  on  it;  and  lost. 
Still  something  whispered  "  Seven."  I  took 
Roger's  winnings — he  was  far  too  cautious  and 
quite  English  when  he  gambled — and  made  a  cross 
of  louis  on  number  seven.  Roger  was  rather 
shocked  I  could  see.  The  croupier  spun  the  wheel, 
and  the  little  ball  rolled  merrily  into  number 
seven.  It  was  delicious!  Again  I  made  a  cross 
—much  bigger — on  number  seven,  and  again  it 
won.  Three  times  I  won  !  Then  I  made  Roger 
collect  my  winnings,  and  I  stood  him  a  really  good 
dinner  at  the  Hotel  de  Paris.  Poor  fellow  he 
needed  it,  for  he  had  been  dreadfully  worried 
about  money  for  several  days,  telegraphing  all 
over  the  place.  I  don't  believe  he  had  enough 
to  pay  the  Hotel  bill. 

I  got  Roger  more  leave ;  I  knew  someone  at  the 
India  Office;  and  really  Roger  was  rather  run 
down. 


io4  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Then  something  happened  that  changed  our 
lives  completely.  Roger's  aunt  died,  and  left 
him  a  tremendous  lot  of  money,  a  property  in 
Roscommon — awful  place,  and  a  house  in  Dublin. 
Naturally  he  couldn't  go  back  to  India;  and  as  a 
matter  of  fact  I  had  no  intention  of  going  back 
there,  whatever  Roger  did,  for  the  climate  is  very 
trying  to  one's  complexion — that  is  to  a  woman's 
complexion;  men's  don't  matter.  So  I  made  him 
resign  his  commission. 

We  went  to  Dublin  and  everyone  was  charming. 
Roger's  father  was  an  old  duck.  Dublin  Society 
is  or  was  the  best  in  the  world.  They  didn't  bother 
about  money  when  one  had  other  things — breeding 
especially.  The  Irish  are  very  particular  about 
breeding — even  in  their  horses,  and  people  of 
decent  family  are  looked  up  to  even  if  their  houses 
are  tumbling  down,  their  gates  unpainted,  and 
their  harness  tied  up  with  bits  of  string.  Roger's 
family  was  very  old  and  very  Irish,  .so  it  would 
have  been  all  right  in  any  case.  My  family  was 
old  too,  but  mixed.  A  great  great  great  grand- 
mother had  been  French,  and  we  had  a  splash  of 
Irish  somewhere.  At  all  events  the  Irish  in  me 
carried  the  day ;  and  Roger  was  considered — quite 
frankly  and  openly — they  always  do  things  openly 
in  Ireland — to  be  a  very  lucky  Irishman.  I  think 
he  was. 

Roger  was  not,  naturally,  a  jealous  man ;  far 
too  free  and  easy.  So  I  had  to  make  him  jealous. 
If  I  hadn't  goodness  knows  what  might  have 
happened ;  for  Dublin  women  are  lovely.  If  I  was 


ROGER  105 

a  man  I  would  marry  an  Irish  girl.  There  is  some- 
thing so  alluring  about  them,  and  I  am  quite  sure 
that  they  can  love  tremendously.  Then  again  they 
are  so  loyal  to  their  friends  and  are  never  catty. 

Irish  men  too  are  charming,  not  quite  so 
polished  perhaps  as  Englishmen,  but  more  gallant, 
and  far  more  daring.  An  Irishman  makes  love  as 
if  he  meant  it.  It  doesn't  make  a  pennyworth  of 
difference  whether  he  is  married  or  single,  or 
whether  one's  husband  is  close  at  hand,  if  an  Irish- 
man admires  one  he  says  so,  and  quite  simply. 
One  can't  be  offended ;  neither  can  one's  husband. 
I  am  speaking  of  course  of  the  pukka  Irish. 

Heaven  protect  me  from  the  mercenary  wretch 
whose  ancestors  immigrated  from  Scotland,  because 
they  found  it  easier  to  make  money  in  Ireland. 
They  aren't  Irish  at  all,  however  long  they  have 
lived  there;  they  are  Scotch — pure  and  simple 
perhaps,  but  far  too  canny  and  clanny  and  serious 
for  my  taste.  Poor  dear  Edward  had  a  little  Scot 
in  him,  but  not  enough  to  hurt. 

It  is  the  fashion  these  days  to  air  one's  views 
on  Ireland.  Not  that  I  am  doing  it  for  that 
reason,  but  because  I  do  know  a  little  about 
Ireland,  and  after  all  I  married  an  Irishman. 
And  to  know  a  man  one  must  marry  him. 

The  trouble  with  Ireland  is  very  simple,  so 
simple  that  our  astute  politicians  have  always  over- 
looked it.  The  Scotch,  not  the  English,  are  the 
mischief.  The  English  ,can  rule.  The  Scotch 
can't.  Englishmen  are  impersonal  creatures,  who 
instinctively  look  down  on  other  people,  but  they 


106  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

are  never  small  nor  clanny.  The  Scotchman  says  : 
"  a  mon's  a  mon  for  a'  that,"  but  he  means  a 
Scot.  An  Englishman  is  tolerant  of  other  people's 
opinions,  however  stupid  he  may  consider  them. 
A  Scotsman  is  the  most  intolerant  creature  on  the 
face  of  the  globe;  no  matter  where  he  goes  he 
carries  his  customs  and  religion  and  accent  with 
him,  and  does  his  worst  to  cram  them  down  other 
people's  throats.  Edward  was  horribly  intolerant, 
really,  and  he  was  only  half  a  Scot. 

To  this  day  the  Scots  say  that  our  king  is  really 
Scotch.  What  can  one  do  with  such  people? 

Ulster  may  be  a  part  of  Ireland  geographically, 
but  in  reality  it  is  a  Scottish  settlement.  If  they 
had  been  willing  to  tolerate  and  show  respect — 
even  if  they  didn't  feel  it — for  Irish  customs  and 
Irish  laws  and  Irish  religion,  everything  would 
have  been  all  right.  But  not  they  1  Strangers  in 
a  strange  land  they  set  out  to  dominate  Ireland. 
Being  Scotch  they  worshipped  money  almost  as 
much  as  the  Jews.  In  fact  if  you  want  to 
thoroughly  enrage  a  Scotchman  ask  him  how  many 
Jews  there  are  in  Scotland.  There  was  one  once, 
the  story  goes,  and  he,  poor  thing,  never  could 
make  enough  money  to  leave  the  country.  I 
believe  he  is  dead. 

Why  should  people  be  forced  to  worship  money 
if  they  don't  want  to?  That  is  my  argument. 
The  Irish  like  money  to  spend;  if  they  can't  make 
it  or  borrow  it,  they  starve,  quite  decently  and 
without  offending  anybody.  An  Irishman  loves 
his  country  and  his  home  and  his  wife  and  his 


ROGER  107 

children  and  his  horse  and  his  cow  and  his  pig  and 
his  chickens.  If  he  can  grow  enough  grass  and 
potatoes  and  corn  to  supply  all  his  belongings — 
and  provide  an  occasional  drop  of  the  "  creature  " 
— he  is  supremely  satisfied.  So,  curiously  enough, 
is  his  wife.  A  Scot  loves  himself  first,  then  money. 
His  home  is  anywhere  where  he  can  make  money 
— to  save.  His  wife  is  the  finest  porridge  maker 
in  existence.  His  country  is  something  to  talk 
about  over  a  hot  toddy ;  his  horse — if  he  has  one — 
is  something  to  earn  him  money;  he  may  even 
keep  a  sheep  dog,  but  it  is  to  drive  his  sheep  until 
they  are  ready  for  market.  One  can't  picture  a 
Scotsman  with  a  pet  lamb. 

Send  the  Ulster  foreigners  back  to  Scotland  and 
England  will  rule  Ireland  for  ever. 

I  don't  mean  that  the  Irish  love  the  English ; 
they  don't — emphatically.  But  they  do  respect 
them,  and  would  be  quite  content  to  be  ruled  by 
them.  In  his  heart  of  hearts  an  Irishman  trusts 
an  Englishman,  as  much  as  he  distrusts  and  hates 
a  Scotsman.  To  send  a  Scot  to  Dublin  as  Secre- 
tary of  State  is  to  goad  the  Irish  into  sheer 
desperation.  A  desperate  Irishman  is  awful; 
there  is  nothing  he  won't  do.  He  will  kill  and 
murder  and  even  maim  cattle — and  he  loves  live 
stock.  But  he  won't  stoop  to  steal.  His  point 
of  view ;  and  we  must  understand  his  point  of  view 
if  we  wish  to  continue  to  rule  him.  It's  no  good 
blaming  him,  or  killing  him,  or  putting  him  in 
prison ;  that  only  makes  him  worse,  makes  his 
sense  of  injustice  rankle  more.  And  Ireland  is 


io8  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

suffering  from  a  keen  sense  of  injustice  and  that  is 
that  England  is  helping  the  Scotch  to  oust  them 
from  their  own  country. 

I  could  rule  Ireland,  and  I  am  only  an  English 
woman.  How?  Well  I  love  the  Irish;  and  Irish 
people  always  love  me.  Roger  would  have  died 
for  me. 


VI 

ROGER  was  a  great  ladies'  man ;  most  Irishmen  are. 
If  he  hadn't  been  a  brilliantly  clever  Brain  Special- 
ist he  would  have  made  a  splendid  Society  Enter- 
tainer. Most  people  can  do  two  things  well,  can't 
they  ?  And  really  I  think  people  were  meant  to  do 
two  things;  it  isn't  reasonable  to  suppose  that  any- 
one was  meant  to  do  one  thing  all  the  time.  I  have 
always  pitied  the  poor  dustman,  for  example;  it 
must  be  awful  having  to  cart  about  other  people's 
refuse  all  day  long !  Then  the  miners,  just  fancy 
digging  out  coal  all  day  1  and  how.  black  the  poor 
things  must  get.  I  have  sometimes  wondered, 
when  my  face  was  being  massaged  or  my  hair  done, 
what  sort  of  a  miner  I  would  have  made  if  I  had 
been  born  a  man  and  the  son  of  a  miner.  Honestly 
I  believe  that  I  would  have  become  a  policeman  or 
a  burglar.  No  wonder  the  poor  things  go  out  on 


ROGER  109 

strike;   and   no  wonder  they  get   drunk — if   they 
can. 

In  spite  of  all  this  talk  that  is  going  on  about 
the  New  World  which  Mr  Lloyd  George  is  going 
to  make,  it  seems  to  me  that  no  one  understands 
what  is  really  necessary.     I   know  I  am  only  a 
woman  and  not  expected  to  know  anything,  but  still 
one  does  think  now  and  again,  and  I  am  certain 
that  Work  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  trouble.     The 
happy  people  I  have  known  are  men  who  love 
their  work.     Edward  loved  his  soldiering,  Roger 
positively  enjoyed  lunatics,  and  George  my  third 
husband  (to  appear  in  Part  III)  delighted  in  killing 
things.    That  was  work  number  one.    Then  they 
all    loved    me;    work    number    two.     Most    pro- 
fessional  men   love   their  work,   and    I    suppose 
professional   women   do   too,   but   I    have   rather 
avoided  them,  so  I  can't  say.     Then  most  sailors 
love  the  sea;  soldiers  love  the  Army — otherwise 
they   would   desert.     I    have  known   many   shop- 
keepers  who  obviously   took  a   huge   delight   in 
selling  things.     I  remember  going  into  the  stoke- 
hold of  a  ship  once  and   I   am   quite   sure  the 
Engineer — a  Scot — loved  his  engines  from  the  way 
he  patted  and  polished  them.     A  mining  engineer 
friend  of  mine  bores  me  to  tears  with  his  descrip- 
tions of  rocks  and  minerals  and  things;  he  must 
love    them.      So    I     don't    see    why     everyone 
shouldn't  love  his  work.     Of  course  the  trouble 
starts  when  a  boy  is  made  to  follow  a  certain  trade 
— probably  his  father's.     I   know  what  boys  are. 
I've  got  three  of  my  own — at  least  I  had;  one,  I 


no  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

can't  believe  that  he's  dead  even  now.  I've  got 
his  Military  Cross  somewhere — nasty  thing  !  I 
can't  bear  to  look  at  it,  it  seems  like  his  price. 
As  if  they  could  pay  for  those  boys  !  boys  who  went 
so  bravely  and  died  laughing.  Oh  !  those  dis- 
gusting hypocrites,  men  and  women,  who  boast 
that  they  gave  their  sons.  My  son  was  never  mine 
to  give,  besides  he  just  went;  all  I  did  was  to  be 
brave,  to  hide  anything  that  might  have  hurt  him. 
I  was  proud  of  him,  yes;  am  still  proud,  proud  as 
an  artist  must  feel  as  he  remembers  the  masterpiece 
that  his  hand  produced  and  which  he  sent  to 
market.  For  pity's  sake  let  us  be  frank  and  say 
that  we  sold  our  sons,  sold  them  to  buy  our  own 
safety ;  sold  them  because  we  had  taken  no  steps  to 
secure  that  safety. 

Boys  must  never  be  forced  into  anything,  other- 
wise they  will  hate  their  work  and  be  unhappy.  Of 
my  boys,  little  John  chose  to  die  for  his  country; 
Edward  was  too  young — thank  God — and  he  has 
chosen  the  pulpit — it's  his  choice.  I  never  could 
stand  preachers  and  I  shan't  go  to  hear  him. 
Perhaps  he  will  be  a  Bishop — he  certainly  seems  to 
love  his  "trade — that  is  if  there  are  still  Bishops  then. 
George — but  I  am  getting  rather  forward  with  my 
story. 

As  I  mentioned  before,  Roger  was  a  great  ladies' 
man ;  he  couldn't  help  himself,  poor  fellow.  He 
loved  women — all  women ,  almost  as  much  as  I  love 
men,  so  we  were  well  matched.  Now  the  easiest 
kind  of  man  to  manage  is  a  ladies'  man,  but  one 
must  go  about  it  in  the  right  way.  There  are  some 


ROGER  in 

women  married  to  ladies'  men  who  get  silly  and 
jealous  when  their  husbands  stay  out  late,  or  are 
kept  at  the  office,  or  do  the  hundred  and-one  things 
that  ladies'  men  do.  Others  are  rather  proud  of 
their  husband's  achievements  and  seem  to  delight 
in  taking  a  back  seat  among  the  pots  and  pans, 
keeping  him  well  fed,  and  picking  up  any  stray 
crumbs  that  may  happen  to  fall  from  his  table. 

Both  these  methods  are  wrong,  and  are  bound, 
sooner  or  later,  to  end  in  disaster. 

My  recipe  is  very  simple.  Find  out  what  it  is  in 
the  other  woman  that  attracts  Charlie,  or  Harry,  or 
William,  and  cultivate  her  carefully.  That  done, 
set  to  work  to  beat  that  woman  at  her  own  game. 
It's  quite  easy  if  you  have  brains. 

Most  men  are  simple  creatures  and  at  heart  far 
better  than  we  women.  The  average  man  is  easilv 
satisfied;  poor  dear  Edward -was,  and  he  was  far 
above  the  average.  The  really  difficult  creature  is 
the  brilliant  man.  There  is  no  average  brilliance ; 
it  is  something  to  which  no  law  of  averages  can 
apply;  it's  worse  than  Luck.  A  brilliant  man  is 
like  a  pendulum,  right  up  and  right  down,  always 
swinging,  never  stationary. 

Roger  in  some  moods  was  splendid,  capable  of 
wonderful  things.  When  he  was  in  these  moods 
I  appreciated  h«m  tremendously ;  then  he  was 
almost  lovable,  certainly  attractive.  At  other  times 
he  was  a  beast.  It  was  in  his  beastliest  moods  thaf 
he  paid  attention  to  Mrs  de  J . 

Now  this  Mrs  de  J ,  I  don't  believe  it  was  her 

name  at  all,  was  not  even  admitted  to  any  decent 


ii2  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Dublin  Society,  although  she  was  notorious.  Of 
course  to-day  she  would  have  been  welcomed 
anywhere;  Smart  Society  nowadays  consists  of 
such  a  miscellaneous  conglomeration  of  notorieties, 
doesn't  it? 

Being  a  doctor,  Roger  practised  when  other 
people  felt  like  it ;  and  his  practice  took  him  to  all 
sorts  of  places.  It  took  him,  so  he  said,  to  Mrs 

de  J ,   a  gratuitous  piece  of  information  for 

which  I  never  asked  and  which  I  did  not  believe. 

I  happened  to  be  walking  with  Mr  J O'B , 

dead  now  poor  fellow,  most  charming.  We  were 
quite  out  of  the  beaten  track  when  we  met  Roger 

and  Mrs  de  J in  a  jaunting  car.    Roger  saluted 

and  smiled  in  rather  a  sickly  manner — I  didn't 
wonder,  she  was  awful  1  I  waved  my  hand. 

"  You  are  a  saint,"  said  Mr  J O'B . 

"  Is  she  as  bad  as  she1  paints?  "  I  asked. 

"  Worse  I  "  said  Mr  O'B ,  with  much  feeling. 

"  Can't  understand  what  your  husband  sees  in  her. 
They  say  he  pays  her  a  great  deal  of  attention." 

"  That's  the  worst  of  being  a  doctor,"  said  I 
sweetly.  "One  has  to  attend  to  such  curious 
people.  Poor  Roger  I  One  could  see  he  was 
feeling  miserable." 

"  Uncomfortable  I  should  say,"  said  Mr 
O'B . 

That  evening  Roger  wanted  to  explain  things, 
but  I  wasn't  in  the  least  interested. 
"  Don't  you  care?  "  he  asked. 
"  Of  course  not ;  why  ?  " 


ROGER  113 


Well  I  thought- 


'  That  I  might  be  jealous?  ' 
"  Well— er— people  talk  so." 
"  Not    to    me   about    you.      They    have    more 
interesting  things  to  talk  about." 
"  Then  you  don't  care  a  damn  ?  " 
"  Not  one  little  damn,  Roger  dear." 
But  I  did  care.    Who  wouldn't? 


VII 

"  JEALOUS!  "  I  can  hear  the  elderly  spinster  sniff. 
"  Doesn't  like  being  paid  back  in  her  own  coin." 

Well  I  don't  think  it  could  be  called  jealousy,  for 

I  wasn't  jealous  of  Roger  or  of  Mrs  de  J .  My 

first  feeling  was  that  there  was  a  part  of  Roger  I 
didn't  know;  rather  interesting!  Then  again  I 

began  to  wonder  what  it  was  that  Mrs  de  J 

possessed  that  I  did  not.  That  took  me  to  my 
looking  glass.  I  looked  at  my  outward  self  rather 
anxiously.  No ;  it  certainly  was  not  her  appearance 
that  attracted  Roger.  What  was  it  ? 

I  cogitated  deeply  that  night  in  bed,  and  fell 
asleep  without  answering  the  question.  Then  I 

began  to  s'tudy  Mrs  de  J .  I  asked  questions 

about  her — quite  casually.  After  a  lot  of  difficulty 
I  got  to  meet  her.  After  a  little  more  I  got  to  know 
H 


ii4  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

her — there  was  nothing  very  deep  about  her;  and 
presently  I  became  very  friendly  with  her  ;  asked  her 
to  the  house ;  and  introduced  her  to  people  as 
"  Roger's  friend." 

She  was  rather  unpleasant ;  noisy  in  an  aggres- 
sive sort  of  way ;  always  on  guard  against 
something  or  other — certainly  not  her  reputation ; 
and  she  drank. 

Of  course  she  was  very  pleased,  poor  fool; 
thought  she  was  en  route  up  the  ladder  of  Social 
Glory.  It  was  great  fun  to  invite  her  to  very  select 
dinner  parties  and  give  her  the  seat  of  honour  next 
to  Roger;  to  personally  drive  her  over  to  Roger's 
relations ;  and  to  mother  her — she  was  a  great  deal 
older  than  I — at  balls. 

At  first  Roger  took  to  it  all  quite  kindly.  This 
was  rather  a  blow,  but  I  persevered.  If  she  had 
been  different  somehow  I  might  have  out-Heroded 
Herod,  but  she  wasn't  Herod,  merely  a  silly  and 
moral-less  woman.  Roger,  animalissimo,  liked 
her,  because  she  was  silly  and  because  she 
had  no  morals  and  because  she  drank.  In  his  fine 
moments  he  hated  her.  If  I  had  loved  Roger  I 
probably  would  have  become  moral-less,  and  drunk 
to  please  that  portion  of  him  which  liked  her ;  and 
I  am  quite  sure  I  could  have  ousted  her  from  even 
that  part  of  him.  But  she  wasn't  worth  it.  Besides 
my  scheme  was  far  simpler.  I  would  hang  the 
albatross  round  his  neck.  I  did. 

Poor  Roger !  She  became  his  albatross — all 
Dublin  enjoyed  the  joke,  enormously.  They 
called  him:  "  The  Ancient  Mariner."  Wherever 


ROGER  115 

we  went,  there  she  was,  always  hanging  round  his 
neck.  "  Roger's  boyhood  friend,"  I  called  her. 
"  Quite  harmless." 

Roger  began  to  drink  heavily. 

When  he  snubbed  her ;  I  comforted  her.  When 
he  cursed  her ;  I  consoled  her.  If  he  hit  her — and 
I  believe  he  did,  the  brute  part  of  him  ;  I  patted  her. 
She  came  to  me  with  all  her  troubles;  she  called 
him  Roger  to  my  face.  And  I — I  suppose  that  every 
woman  has  a  devil  in  her  somewhere — I  enjoyed 
her  tears.  She  almost  lived  in  the  house. 

Roger  left  off  drinking. 

Then  one  evening — after  dinner — he  came  to  me. 
'  For  God's  sake  get  rid  of  her,"  he  said,  almost 
weeping.     "  I  can't  stand  this  any  more." 

"  Who  now?  "  I  asked.  He  was  awful  to  the 
servants  when  in  his  cups,  and  the  parlourmaid 
had  given  notice  only  the  week  before. 

For  a  full  minute  or  more  he  glared  at  me 
speechlessly.  Then  his  eyes  narrowed;  he  had  a 
beast  of  a  temper. 

"  Who  the  Hell  do  you  think  I  mean  ?  " 
'  Roger,    please    remember    that    you're    not 
talking  to  Bertha  or  the  servants."     Bertha  was  her 
name  and  suited  her  exactly.     I  spoke  very  quietly. 

"  You  little  devil !  " 

'  Poor  dear  Edward  once  called  me  that,"  I 
sighed. 

'  If  she  comes  into  this  house  again,  I  go. 
That's  final!  "  he  shouted,  and  started  to  stamp 
about  the  room. 

1  Roger,  she  will  hear  you,  and  she  will  think 


n6  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

that  we  are  fighting,  and  she  will  want  to  comfort 
you,  presently." 

"I'm  the  laughing  stock  of  all  Ireland." 

"  They  are  all  very  very  sorry  for  you." 

"  Damn  their  sorrow."  Then  he  suddenly 
flopped  down  on  his  knees  and  put  his  head  on  my 
lap. 

"  Don't  you  love  het,  Roger?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  hate  the  damned  woman !  " 

"  But  you  did — once." 

"  I  tell  you  I  hate  her!  everything  decent  in  ITU 
hates  her!  Oh  God,  I'm  not  fit  to  touch  you." 
He  made'  no  effort  to  move. 

"  You're  not,   Roger,"  said  I. 

"  Will  you  give  me  another  chance?  I'll 
swear " 

"  Go  down  and  kiss  her  good-bye." 

"  I'll  kill  her!  I'd  like  to  split  her  head  open 
with  an  axe.  I  can't  get  rid  of  her.  She  clings  so 
infernally,  and  you  encourage  her." 

"  Roger!  " 

"  Well  she  says  you  do." 

"  The  cat!  " 

"  What  can  we  do?  " 

"  Drop  her,"  said  I. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  asked  Roger. 

"  And  I'll  pick  her  up  if  you  ever  speak  to  her 
again." 

"  You're  the  sweet " 

"  No;  I  don't  feel  like  letting  you  kiss  me,"  I 
said.     "  Not  while  that  creature  is  in  the  house." 
'  Leave  her  to  me,"  said  Roger. 


ROGER  117 


VIII 

AFTER  the  Albatross  incident  Roger  reformed  quite 
a  lot.  Naturally  he  still  remained  a  ladies'  man — 
in  his  spare  time.  I  don't  know  what  he  did  to 

Mrs  de  J ,  but  she  disappeared,  and  I  never 

saw  her  again ;  I  don't  think  Roger  did  either. 

Roger  had  two  ambitions  I  discovered:  one,  to 
go  to  Harley  Street — he  was  fearfully  keen  on 
brains;  the  other  to  have  a  baby  of  his  own.  As 
both  were  quite  harmless  I  decided  to  let  him  have 
them.  We  bought  a  practice  in  Harley  Street,  and 
there  he  hung  up  his  plate.  I  busied  myself  with 
the  second  of  his  ambitions. 

I  think  wives  ought  to  consult  their  husbands' 
wishes  about  children  far  more  than  they  do.  We 
women  are  too  apt  to  think  that  men  take  no 
interest  in  children.  Men  love  young  things. 
One  of  the  first  ambitions  of  a  boy  is  to  possess 
a  puppy ;  and  if  he  can't  get  that  he  keeps  dormice 
or  newts  or  something.  When  he  grows  up  he 
branches  out  into  more  young  things:  he  breeds 
puppies,  and  spends  hours  and  days  and  weeks  in 
training  them ;  he  may  acquire  a  pony.  Similarly 
when  he  grows  up.  Now  children  are  far  more 
interesting  things  than  puppies  or  ponies,  and 
men  love  to  be  allowed  a  share  in  their  upbringing. 


n8  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

The  man  who  is  barred  from  the  nursery  will,  as 
sure  as  fate,  go  back  to  his  puppies  or  his  ponies — 
polo  perhaps  by  that  time. 

Poor  dear  Edward  was  a  devoted  father,  as  I 
think  I  mentioned — but  as  such  an  able  authority 

as  Lord  F says  that  repetition  is  the  soul  of 

— something  to  do  with  writing,  I  don't  mind 
repeating  myself.  At  first  I  didn't  think  men  had 
any  business  in  the  nursery;  Edward  changed  my 
opinion  by  pointing  to  Nature.  And  it  is  quite 
true  that  animal  and  bird  and  insect  fathers  all 
share  their  offspring  equally  with  the  mother. 
This  is  nice  I  think,  and  certainly  tends  to 
camaraderie  between  wife  and  husband. 

Men  are  usually  very  understanding  with 
babies;  they  are  such  big  babies  themselves.  A 
doctor-man  is  awful !  Have  you  ever  noticed 
doctors'  children?  They  always  look  to  me  as  if 
they  were  being  experimented  upon,  poor  little 
things! 

When  little  Sheila  was  born  I  very  nearly  died 
— all  on  account  of  Roger.  A  doctor  can't  leave 
well  alone.  No  wonder  they  are  not  supposed, 
ethically,  to  attend  to  their  own  wives;  unfortun- 
ately (for  their  wives)  most  of  them  do,  strictly 
sub  tosa, 

Now  I  had  had  three  children  myself,  and  so  I 
lit  have  been  expected  to  know  something 
about  the  business.  But  there  was  Roger.  If  any 
woman  wants  to  be  really  ill — and  there  are  some 
who  appear  to  actually  like  being  ill — I  can 
strongly  recommend  them  to  marry  a  doctor. 


ROGER  119 

Until  I  married  Roger  I  had  never  been  sick  or 
sorry.  With  Roger  I  was  always  ill. 

The  trouble  is  that  when  a  woman  is  expecting 
to  be  a  mother  she  is  easily  persuaded  to  do  things 
that  she  knows,  instinctively,  are  not  good  for 
her.  Somehow  under  these  conditions  a  woman 
becomes  languid,  and  a  trifle  listless  some- 
times; she  doesn't  want  to  be  bothered;  so  to 
escape  fusses  she  gives  in.  Even  I,  who  hate 
orders  and  never  by  any  chance  obey  them — more 
or  less  followed  out  Roger's  instructions,  with  the 
result,  as  I  say,  that  I  very  nearly  died.  It  wasn't 
Roger's  fault  that  I  did  not. 

From  the  first  everything  went  wrong.  I  was 
horribly  ill  in  the  mornings;  Roger  told  me  to 
stay  in  bed.  I  reminded  him  about  Edward.  He 
swore  and  said  that  I  wanted  to  injure  baby — his 
baby.  I  stayed  in  bed.  After  a  time  I  got  to 
getting  up  at  ten,  then  eleven,  then  to  lunch; 
always  ill.  After  lunch  Roger  made  me  lie  down 
with  my  feet  up.  I  knew  what  to  expect;  poor 
dear  Edward  had  warned  me;  but  I  felt  that  it 
wasn't  worth  fighting  about. 

I  got  stout,  unpleasantly,  indecently  stout — the 
result  of  too  little  exercise,  naturally.  The  stouter 
I  became,  the  less  I  felt  like  fighting  Roger,  and 
the  more  ashamed  I  became  of  showing  my  nose 
out  of  the  house.  No  woman  should  look  ugly  or 
ungainly  when  she  is  enceinte;  if  she  does  she 
is  living  the  wrong  kind  of  life.  No  one  could  see 
anything  unusual  about  me  before  little  John,  or 
Evelyn,  or  Edward  made  their  appearance.  Sheila 


120 

was  painfully  obvious  after  a  few  months.  Then 
Roger  made  me  drink  quantities  of  milk  and  beef 
tea  and  Benger — all  of  which  I  hate;  to  nourish 
baby,  he  said.  I  refused.  He  insisted  that  I  was 
deliberately  trying  to  starve  .the  poor  little  thing ; 
that  I  was  an  unnatural  mother.  I  swallowed 
Benger  and  beef  tea  and  milk — pints  of  milk.  It 
was  horrible!  I  began  to  detest  Roger  and  hate 
baby;  both  of  whom  I  considered  directly  respon- 
sible. 

I  don't  wonder  that  women  dread  having 
children.  If  Sheila  had  been  my  first  instead  of 
the  fourth,  I  would  far  sooner  have  died  than  pro- 
duce another ;  and  I  am  not  a  coward.  But  Sheila 
and  Roger  between  them  frightened  me  horribly. 
Latterly  Roger  began  to  get  scared  himself,  and  a 
specialist  was  sent  for.  Towards  the  end  every- 
thing went  wrong  and  he  called  a  priest.  Any- 
thing more  dreadful  than  the  average  priests' 
treatment  of  women  suffering  in  childbirth  is  hard 
to  conceive,  with  their:  "  In  pain  shall  a  woman 
bring  forth  children,"  and  all  their  nonsense 
about  suffering  being  a  part  of  God's  plan  to 
make  us  better.  Better  1  it  made  me  a  positive 
fiend. 

"  My  child,"  said  that  particular  priest — I  think 
he  must  have  been  a  thoroughly  bad  man,  he 
certainly  looked  it — "  You  must  have  patience. 
Soon  suffering  will  give  way  to  joy." 

I  told  him  about  my  other  children  and  about 
Edward. 

"It  is  the  Lord's  doing  and  marvellous  in  our 


ROGER  121 

eyes,"  he  replied  enigmatically.  "  Was  your  first 
husband  a  good  Catholic,  my  child?  " 

I  told  him :  No ;  that  Edward  was  really  good, 
not  a  humbug ;  and  that  Edward's  God  was  a  God 
of  Love,  not  a  devil  of  suffering.  I  told  him  a 
great  many  other  things — worse.  He  seemed  fear- 
fully shocked.  Presently  Roger  appeared,  and  the 
two  of  them  began  to  whisper  together.  Roger 
performed  with  the  stethoscope — he  had  insisted 
for  ages  that  there  was  something  wrong  with  my 
heart.  I  told  him  to  go  away.  Then  the  priest 
came  again. 

"  Am  I  going  to  die?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  We  are  in  His  hands,  my  poor  child,"  he 
intoned.  I  don't  know  anything  more  irritating 
at  any  time  than  having  things  intoned  at  one. 

"  We  aren't!  and  I'm  not!  "  I  said. 

The  excitement  was  doing  me  good ;  I  began  to 
feel  better,  stronger.  Something  in  me  must  have 
communicated  itself  to  baby,  for  she  too  began  to 
do  her  duty,  neglect  of  which  had  caused  all  the 
bobbery — so  the  nurse  said  afterwards. 

Then  he  wanted  to  confess  me. 

I  said:  "  No." 

He  held  up  a  crucifix,  to  shrive  me,  or  save  me, 
or  whatever  it  is  that  they  do  on  these  occasions. 

I  told  him  to  take  it  away. 

Then  another  doctor — an  even  greater  specialist, 
so  Roger  whispered — appeared.  I  informed  him 
that  I  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  dying  to 
please  anyone.  He  did  various  things;  then  went 
away.  More  whisperings — outside  the  door  this 


122  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

time.  The  priest  rallied  once  more  to  the  attack. 
I  called  Roger.  Then  I  began.  I  don't  remember 
exactly  what  I  said,  but  it  was  exactly  what  I  felt 
at  the  time.  At  least  it  was  vigorous — so  the  nurse 
said.  Pain  always  makes  me  talk  vigorously ;  and 
I  was  in  agony.  I  know  poor  dear  Edward  cropped 
up,  and  many  things  that  he  had  told  me  about 
Roman  Catholicism  and  doctors,  all  of  which  must 
have  been  most  appropriate.  I  remember  too 
shaking  my  fist  at  Roger  and  shouting  in  a  whisper 
that  he  and  he  alone  had  killed  me — if  I  died ;  which 
I  had  no  intention  of  doing. 

After  a  while  I  got  tired  of  talking ;  I  needed  all 
my  energy  in  righting,  fighting  that  agony  that 
seerned  to  be  tearing  me  to  tiny  pieces,  fighting  to 
shut  back  the  cries  and  stifle  the  tears. 

Still  the  idiot  stood  at  my  bedside. 

I  think  I  swore.  In  a  mist  the  priest  vanished. 
Silly  words — I  don't  know  where  they  came  from : 
"  The  Captains  and  the  Kings  depart,  the  Captains 
and  the  Kings  depart  "  reiterated  themselves  in  my 
brain.  I  laughed  immoderately.  The  next  thing 
I  remember  was  chloroform. 

When  eventually  I  came  to  Roger  solemnly 
informed  me  that  he  had  saved  my  life. 


ROGER  123 


IX 

EVERYONE  said  that  she  was  a  "  bee-utiful  "  baby; 
and  Roger  was  in  raptures.  It  weighed  twelve 
pounds  two  ounces  he  informed  me  proudly.  He 
brought  it  over  to  me,  and  one  look  at  it  was 
enough.  I  told  him  to  take  it  away.  It  was  awful ! 
Hideously  ugly,  enormously  fat,  with  a  bloated, 
scarlet,  wrinkly  face  like  a  dyspeptic  old  roue*.  Its 
nose  was  flat  and  wide  and  it  had  an  enormous  dent 
in  the  middle — forceps,  the  nurse  explained.  A 
bee-utiful  baby ! 

Roger  was  horrified — not  at  his  baby — but  at  me. 
Anyhow  I  couldn't  help  it,  I  hated  that  baby  (how 
Awful  it  looks  in  print,  but  I  can't  help  it,  I  did 
hate  it).  I  suggested  that  it  must  be  a  changeling ; 
that  none  of  my  children  were  like  that.  Little 
John-  only  weighed  six  pounds  and  was  a  lovely 
little  fellow,  perfectly  proportioned;  Evelyn 
weighed  six  and  a  half  and  was  lovely  too ;  Edward 
just  over  seven ;  all  were  dear  little,  dainty  atoms, 
miniature  men  and  women,  complete,  perfect,  and 
beautiful.  Anyone  would  have  loved  them.  But 
Sheila! II  She  was  Sheila  after  Roger's  aunt,  the 
one  who  had  left  him  all  her  money.  I  found  out 
later  that  she  stipulated  in  her  will  that  Roger's 


i24  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

eldest  daughter  (how  many  she  imagined  I  was 
going  to  provide  for  Roger  I  don't  pretend  to  know) 
was  to  be  christened  after  her.  It  was  very  lucky 
that  I  did  not  know  until  after  the  christening. 

There's  another  thing  that  I  won't  have  for  my 
children  :  a  quantity  of  names.  I've  got  six  myself 
— not  counting  surnames;  most  confusing!  I 
don't  think  children  should  be  burdened  with  a 
crowd  of  ugly  names  just  because  people  are  going 
to  leave  them  money.  If  any  relations  of  mine, 
and  I  have  hoards — counting  in-laws,  ever  name 
their  children  after  me,  I'll  cut  them  off  with 
a  shilling.  So  relatives,  some  of  you  are  certain  to 
read  this — if  I've  got  to  send  it  to  you  myself,  take 
warning ! 

Of  course  I  couldn't  feed  Sheila;  Roger  said  I 
couldn't,  and  being  a  doctor  he  naturally  knew. 
To  tell  the  truth  I  was  very  glad. 

I  am  not  a  natural  mother,  and  I  admit  the  fact 
quite  freely.  I  love  beautiful  things,  because  they 
are  beautiful.  Keats  is  my  favourite  poet;  he 
understood  what  Beauty  meant.  I  loved  Edward's 
children  because  they  were  beautiful.  I  hated 
Roger's  child  because  it  was  diabolically  ugly. .  I 
could  have  fed  Roger's  child  just  as  I  nourished 
the  others ;  every  woman  can. 

Never  mind  what  doctors  say,  every  woman  can 
feed  her  child,  unless  she  is  deformed  or  is 
recovering  from  fever  or  small-pox  or  something. 
Don't  for  goodness  sake  be  persuaded,  or  in  a  fit 
of  pique  put  your  baby  on  a  bottle,  as  I  did.  It 
doesn't  pay — even  if  you  have  a  dozen  good  nurses. 


ROGER  125 

Your  own  health  is  certain  to  suffer,  if  your  baby's 
doesn't — which  it  most  assuredly  will. 

I  was  ill  for  months:  hysterical,  nervous,  and 
stupid,  all  because  Roger  said  that  I  couldn't  supply 
Sheila  and  because  Sheila  was  so  hideous.  It  was 
wrong  of  me,  I  realise;  but  I  paid  "  full  measure 
and  brimming  over  "  (poor  dear  Edward  was  very 
fond  of  that  quotation).  Every  woman  can  feed 
her  baby  (I  have  said  this  three  times  already,  to 
drive  it  into  the  stupidest  head).  If  the  quantity  of 
milk  is  insufficient  use  Lactogol,  the  same  sort  of 
stuff  as  cotton  seed  cake  that  farmers  give  to  their 
cows.  If  the  quality  is  poor,  use  Lactogol.  No; 
I  am  not  interested  financially  in  the  firm.  I  often 
wonder  why  they  don't  advertise  it  more,  so  many 
young  mothers  to  whom  I  have  mentioned  it  had 
never  even  heard  of  it,  nor  had  their  doctors. 
Perhaps  because  it  can  stand  on  its  merits. 

As  the  mother  of  five  children  and  wife  of  three 
men  I  say  unto  you,  sisters  (I  feel  sure  that  I  shall 
be  in  Politics  one  day),  put 'not  your  faith  in  doctors 
(my  second  husband  was  a  doctor  and  most  brilliant 
as  doctors  go),  throw  all  bottles  out  of  the  window, 
and  feed  your  children.  And  the  name  of  this  book 
will  be  blessed,  people  may  even  buy  it. 

To  return  to  my  story :  the  first  or  second  time  I 
managed  to  crawl  out  of  bed  Roger  wanted  me  to 
go  to  church  and  return  thanks. 

"What  for?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  Well— for  getting  better." 

"  I  thought  it  was  you  that  did  that?  " 

"  Well — er — under  God's  guidance." 


126  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"  Roger,  you  are  an  ass  and  a  hypocrite.  Voite 
tout!  And,  I  suppose  I  might  just  as  well  break  it 
to  you  now,  I  have  done  with  your  Church  I  I  am 
an  Atheist." 


ROGER  had  an  awful  time  with  Sheila.  Nothing 
seemed  to  suit  her;  every  two  or  three  weeks  her 
food  would  be  changed,  and  she  got  thinner  and 
thinner — rather  an  improvement  I  thought.  Of 
course  I  was  far  too  ill  to  take  much  interest  in  her ; 
and  after  all  it  was  Roger's  fault,  and  she  was  his 
baby. 

I  was  never  very  interested  in  Sheila;  somehow 
she  didn't  seem  like  my  child;  and  she  was  always 
so  ugly.  She's  married  now — thank  goodness  I  I 
must  say  Fate  was  very  kind  to  Sheila;  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Roger's  money  heaven  only  knows  who  I 
could  have  found  to  marry  her.  As  it  was  she 
caused  me  a  great  deal  of  anxiety ;  always  turning 
up  her  nose — figuratively  speaking  for  really  it  was 
a  beak,  and  the  original  dent  never  would  disappear 
— at  my  selections ;  and  always  falling  in  love  with 
impossible  people — just  like  her  father.  Eventu- 
ally she  fell  in  love — so  she  said — with  u  Jewish 
K.C.,  quite  a  prominent  figure  on  the  bench — 
there  must  be  money  in  the  Law  mustn't  there? 


ROGER  127 

Fortunately  his  surname  was  quite  Christian,  so 
I  could  write  and  tell  all  my  friends  that  he  was 
"  an  English  gentleman  of  the  New  School;  "  but 
I  couldn't  send  a  photograph.  They  seem  very 
happy,  I  am  glad  to  say.  He's  very  generous,  so 
she  says.  And  she  was  always  on  the  big  side. 
So  we  can  say  good-bye  to  Sheila,  rather  thankfully 
for  my  part ;  she  always  was  rather  a  smudge  on  my 
life.  ' 
A  short  chapter. 


XI 

IT  is  rather  boring  being  a  doctor's  wife,  even 
though  one'-s  husband  is  quite  celebrated — I  wonder 
how  many  readers  of  these  pages  have  been  to  him 
for  advice  ?  When  the  consulting-room  is  in  one's 
house,  and  the  waiting-room,  the  whole  atmosphere 
becomes  charged  with  sickness.  Telepathy  I 
suppose. 

Everyone  was  always  ill.  I  don't  know  what  it  is 
about  a  doctor  that  makes  one  feel  ill — instinctively. 
And  yet  there  are  heaps  and  heaps  of  women  who 
seem  to  like  doctors.  "  How  nice  it  must  be  to 
feel  that  you  have  a  doctor  always  in  the  house," 
my  friends  used  to  say.  And  that  is  just  the 


128  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

trouble.  I  suppose  one  feels  that  one  shouldn't 
waste  one's  opportunities.  I  was  always  ill  with 
Roger.  If  he  hadn't  died  himself  I  am  quite  sure 
that  I  should  have  done  so.  As  it  is  I  still  feel  the 
effects.  If  Roger  had  been  a  celebrated  specialist 
in  Harley  Street  when  poor  dear  Edward  was  killed 
I  should  certainly  not  have  married  him.  If  he  was 
to  appear  again  now  still  celebrated  and  still  a 
doctor,  and  there  was  no  other  man  on  earth,  I 
wouldn't  marry  him.  Perhaps  if  he  came  back  as 
the  rather  foolish,  rather  wild  boy  who  had  searched 
all  England  for  me  and  found  me  in  Rome,  perhaps 
I  might.  One  never  can  tell,  can  one? 

Roger  of  Harley  Street  and  Roger  of  Rome,  or 
Monte  Carlo,  or  Dublin  were  two  separate  and 
distinct  people,  I  suppose  being  a  woman  I  am 
never  satisfied,  but  oh  I  how  I  longed  for  a  glimpse 
of  the  Roger  who  wasn't  there.  It  would  have 
been  quite  a  relief  to  have  seen  him  excited, 

or  drunk;  even  Mrs  de  J would  have  been  a 

change.  But  Roger  had  turned  over  a  new  leaf ; 
and  I  was  far  too  ill  to  turn  it  back.  I  couldn't  even 
pluck  up  heart  to  flirt.  To  flirt  properly  one  must 
be  feeling  fit.  I  couldn't  even  take  any  interest  in 
Roger's  flirtations;  they  seemed  so  mild  and  milk- 
and-watery,  such  uninteresting,  consulting-room 
affairs. 

I  think,  in  fact  I  know,  that  Roger  did  an 
enormous  amount  of  good  during  this  time.  He 
was  a  great  brain  man,  and  his  theories  always 
made  me  feel  horribly  giddy.  I  know  one  finds 
doing  good  most  fascinating;  I  do.  But  it  is 


ROGER  129 

horribly  boring  to  a  third  person.  Roger,  naturally 
thought  that  I  was  interested  in  his  work. 

The  house  became  a  hot  bed  of  lunatics  in  various 
stages  of  madness.  If  any  really  interesting  case 
appeared,  as  sure  as  fate  Roger  would  bring  her — 
or  sometimes  him — to  be  introduced  to  me.  Then 
periodically  I  had  to  notice  the  wonderful  improve- 
ment that  Roger  had  made  in  them.  The  women 
were  the  worst.  Most  of  them  seemed  to  be 
suffering  from  anaemia,  hysteria,  or  mania  of  some 
kind;  most  of  them  were  rich;  the  majority 
unmarried;  and  all  without  exception  had  nothing 
to  do.  These  Roger  called  his  best  patients  One 
and  all  adored  Roger.  So  long  as  I  would  let 
them,  they  would  rave  about  him.  Rather  rotten  ! 

Roger  did  them  good,  I  suppose;  anyhow  they 
always  came ,  for  more  treatment,  or  advice,  or 
medicine,  or  whatever  it  was  that  Roger  gave  them 
in  return  for  their  guineas.  Of  course  there  was 
nothing  the  matter  with  them  really ;  anyone  could 
see  that.  Poor  things,  what  they  did  want  was 
so  simple  that  they  wouldn't  have  believed  it, 
certainly  not  paid  for  it,  perhaps  Roger  was  wise 
in  not  recommending  it:  Work  or  Matrimony. 

All  women  require  one  or  other  of  these  two ;  and 
they  must  make  up  their  mind  which  they  want 
most.  I  think  the  better  plan  nowadays  would  be 
for  every  woman,  certainly  every  plain  woman,  to 
learn  to  do  something.  Then  if  her  man,  or  some 
suitable  man  comes  along,  she  can  retire  from  her 
trade,  to  resume  it  after  the  birds  have  flown.  You 
see  I  know  these  things,  although  I  don't  put 


i3o  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

them  into  practice  myself.  But  then  no  really 
clever  people  ever  practise  what  they  preach, 
do  they  ? 

Roger  did  not  introduce  many  of  his  men  patients 
to  me;  and  those  he  did  were  rather  far  gone.  But 
at  least  they  were  interesting — some  of  them 
screamingly  funny.  And  they  weren't  always 
talking  about  Roger. 

There  was  one  man,  an  artist — I  daren't  mention 
his  name — who  fancied  that  he  could  paint. 
Unfortunately  the  poor  fellow  suffered  from 
delusions.  He  was  most  amusing  on  every  subject 
under  the  sun  except  Art.  On  Art  he  was  awful ; 
mad  as  a  March  hare,  Roger  said.  His  favourite 
delusion  was  that  something  or  someone  somewhere 
was  urging  him  to  give  a  message  to  the  world ;  he 
knew  that  one  day  he  would  give  the  message :  it 
was  a  great  message,  something  that  would  move 
people  as  they  had  never  been  moved  before. 
Unfortunately  he  wasn't  quite  sure  what  that 
message  was.  He  was  always  getting  brain  storms, 
and  they  made  him  very  ill,  poor  man.  Under 
their  influence  he  would  paint  furiously — thinking 
that  it  was  the  message  at  last.  Many  of  his 
pictures — frightfully  Futurist — caused  quite  a 
sensation  and  sold  for  large  sums.  But  they 
affected  him  so  that  he  had  to  come  to  Roger  for 
relief. 

Another  was  a  literary  man  with  long  hair  (quite 
the  old  school  though  he  was  only  a  boy)  and  semi- 
Victorian  whiskers  (you  know  the  things,  cinema 
actors  sometimes  wear  them,  come  down  two  or 


ROGER  131 

three  inches  below  the  ears).  He  suffered  horribly, 
poor  wretch.  He  had  a  manuscript;  he  had  had  it 
ever  since  he  was  twenty-one  and  had  taken  it  to 
every  publisher  in  London.  It  was  a  masterpiece; 
he  ought  to  know  being  a  critic.  It  was  the  story 
of  a  man — himself  I  suppose — who  had  set  out  to 
look  for  Truth,  and  had  found  It.  It  was  all  there, 
eighty  thousand  words  of  It.  It  only  wanted 
publishing  and  advertising  to  reform  the  world. 
Would  I  read  It?  I  did.  It  was  wonderfully 
simple.  Meanwhile  the  poor  fellow  (he  had  heaps 
of  money — he  made  two  or  three  thousand  a  year, 
so  he  told  me)  wrote  articles  and  reviews  and  things 
for  papers  and  magazines.  "  They  love  it  you 
know,"  he  would  complain,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 
"  But,  my  God!  it's  driving  me  mad."  It  was. 
Roger  said  his  case  was  quite  hopeless.  I 
suggested  that  he  should  become  a  publisher,  and 
bring  out  his  own  book.  He  did,  eventually;  and 
went  bankrupt.  It's  a  cruel  world  to  some  people, 
isn't  it? 

Then  there  was  a  religious  lunatic — I  don't  know 
why  Roger  brought  him  to  me  ? — who  fancied  that 
woman  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble  in  the  world. 
His  wife  was  a  suffragette,  one  of  the  very  first, 
always  smashing  windows  and  pouring  paraffin 
into  pillar-boxes  (rather  a  fetching  alliteration  1) 
Poor  man,  he  was  very  mad,  and  the  way  he 
glowered  at  me  the  first  time  was  very  terrifying. 
But  I  was  on  my  mettle  in  defence  of  Woman. 
Roger  always  used  to  say  that  he  was  one  of  his 
best  cures. 


i32  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Another  remarkable  case,  who  used  to  come 
sometimes,  was  a  celebrated  Judge.  He  always 
appeared  at  night  in  a  closed  cab.  I  never  saw 
him ;  he  said  that  women  chattered  so.  Roger  told 
me  all  about  him — in  strict  confidence.  Quite 
mad,  poor  man  !  But  he  still  continued  to  deal  out 
Justice. 

Then  there  was — you  all  know  him.  He's  old, 
very  ugly,  skinny,  rather  wild  looking,  and  a 
vegetarian.  He  writes  plays  and  books  with  himself 
in  all  the  parts.  Quite  harmless,  poor  creature! 
His  was  an  awful  predicament:  he  was  a 
Socialist  and  had  heaps  of  money.  "  It  paid  him 
to  be  a  Socialist,"  he  said.  What  to  do  with  his 
money,  was  one  of  his  troubles;  for  he  couldn't 
persuade  himself  that  it  was  right  to  give  it  away. 
I  suggested  a  wife,  but  he  was  too  clever  for  that. 
His  other  trouble  was  that  he  fancied  himself  a 
Builder — not  a  man  who  builds  houses,  nothing  so 
common  as  that,  but  a  World  Builder.  That  was 
in  his  mad  moments,  which  were  comparatively  few. 
In  his  sober  senses  (he  was  a  teetotaller)  he 
destroyed  things.  He  was  always  destroying 
things,  with  his  pen  of  course,  all  sorts  of  things : 
governments,  kings,  religions,  reputations.  Then 
he  would  go*  mad  in  trying  to  build  them  up  again  ; 
and  come  to  Roger.  Roger  gave  him  Phosphates ; 
Hypnotic  suggestion  had  no  effect.  I  don't  know 
who  is  giving  him  Phosphates  now. 


ROGER  133 


XII 


I  USED  to  love  doctors — men  doctors — until  I 
married  Roger.  Now  I  don't.  I  know  too  much 
about  them,  and  they  are  so  frightfully  human. 
When  one  is  ill,  one  likes  to  think  of  a  doctor  as  a 
sort  of  healing  machine;  some — the  best — are  like 
that,  especially  surgeons.  Unfortunately  nowa- 
days, like  everyone  and  everything  else,  doctors 
have  become  smitten  by  the  commercial  spirit. 
Doctoring  used  to  be  a  profession  ;  now  it  is  a  trade, 
controlled  by  Union  rules  and  regulations  like  any 
other  trade.  For  many  years  past  most  doctors 
have  been  out  for  money.  I  got  an  inkling  of  all 
this  with  Roger.  Roger  wasn't  really  mercenary — 
he  had  no  need  to  be,  besides  he  was  Irish — all  the 
same  he  knew  how  to  charge  the  well-to-do.  At 
the  same  time  he  could  afford  to  be  generous  to 
the  poor.  Some  doctors  are  like  that;  rather  nice 
I  think. 

Specialists,  as  everyone  knows,  have  fixed  fees  : 
so  much  a  consultation.  The  general  practitioner 
has  nothing  fixed,  except  his  income  tax  and  panel 
patients.  To  be  a  Successful  Practitioner  he  has 
to  be  an  Expert  Valuer.  Have  you  ever  noticed 
the  surreptitious  glances  of  the  doctor  at  the 
furniture,  carpets,  pictures,  and  so  on  of  the  house 


134  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

he  is  visiting  for  the  first  time?  If  you  have,  you 
probably  imagined  that  he  was  merely  taking  a 
friendly  interest  in  your  surroundings.  Don't  you 
believe  it  I  He  is  weighing  you  in  the  balance. 
You  may  even  point  out  to  him  some  rare  piece 
of  ancestral  plate  or  the  picture  of  your  great  grand- 
mother by  Reynolds.  For  goodness  sake  don't ! 
If  you  see  him  looking  at  it  tell  him  that  it's  electro 
or  an  imitation.  If  you  must  show  him  anywhere 
but  into  the  sick-room,  take  him  to  the  kitchen. 
And  always  remember  to  shut  all  the  doors  that  he 
is  likely  to  pass;  and  keep  them  shut.  Tell  him— 
most  of  them  like  to  be  talked  to — how  poor  you 
are;  discuss  the  price  of  bread  with  him,  and 
margarine;  confide  in  him  about  poor  Jimmy  or 
Joseph  or  Jack,  who  you  can't  afford  to  send  to 
school.  Then,  if  you  have  been  clever,  he  will 
treat  you  considerately. 

By  Law  the  doctor  is  entitled  to  charge  according 
to  the  rateable  value  of  the  house  you  live  in. 
Naturally  he  finds  it  a  lot  of  bother  writing  to  the 
Inland  Revenue,  or  whoever  rates  one's  house; 
besides  these  Government  Departments  are  so  slow 
aren't  they?  So  the  doctor  can't  be  blamed  for 
using  his  own  judgment. 

Another  thing:  never  pay  a  doctor's  bill 
immediately.  If  you  do  he  will  think  that  he 
underestimated  your  value,  and  next  time  up  will 
go  your  bill.  Keep  him  waiting;  better  still  write 
him  a  sweet  little  note  and  tell  him  that  you  are 
so  sorry  etc. — any  good  plausible  story  with  the 
human  note  running  through  it  will  do. 


ROGER  135 

Doctors  have  their  fingers  in  most  pies  these 
days.  If  your  doctor  suggests  any  patent  medicine 
for  you,  or  patent  food  for  the  children,  remember 
that  in  all  probability  he  owns  shares  in  that 
particular  concern.  If  he  recommends  you  to  deal 
with  Mr  Jones  the  chemist  in  such  and  such  a 
street,  you  will  be  shocked  to  learn  that  in  all 
probability  he  is  Mr  Jones. 

I  once  knew  a  doctor — a  babies'  doctor — who 
made  an  enormous  income  out  of  a  patent  milk. 
Every  mother  who  fell  into  his  clutches  was  made 
to  put  her  baby  on  the  bottle,  and  the  bottle  was 
to  contain  his  food.  He  happened  to  be  the 
inventor  of  the  food.  He  wanted  Roger  to 
recommend  it  to  his  lunatics;  that's  how  I 
know. 

Every  trade  has  its  tricks,  and  to  know  the  tricks 
one  must  be  in  the  trade;  that's  why  we  set  a 
thief  to  catch  a  thief.  Now  if  there  is  one  thing 
on  earth  that  a  doctor  dislikes  more  than  panel 
patients  it  is  attending  a  confinement  case.  Most 
doctors  make  a  point  of  coming  in  after  it  is  all 
over ;  and  their  method  of  excusing  themselves  is  to 
compliment  the  mother  on  her  wonderful  fortitude 
which  deceived  them  into  thinking  that  the  baby 
would  not  be  born  until  to-morrow  morning. 
The  nurse  will  always  corroborate  this  statement. 
Then  they  will  expatiate  at  full  length  on  the 
beauties  of  the  baby.  And  everyone  will  be 
satisfied.  Similarly  if  anything  should  happen  to 
go  wrong;  there  is  the  nurse  and  a  host  of 
technicalities.  The  only  real  protection  one  has 


136  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

against  technicalities  and  long  Latin  words  is  to 
know  something  about  one's  anatomy.  After  all 
it's  one's  own  person  that  gets  ill,  and  one  ought 
to  know  a  little  about  it.  Roger's  stories  of 
confinement  cases  used  to  make  my  hair  stand 
on  end;  and  I  vowed  inwardly  that  if  ever  I 
was  a  mpther  again  no  man  would  have  a  hand 
in  it. 

Roger  used  to  tell  one  lovely  story  about  a 
certain  famous  specialist — tummy,  or  chest,  or 
something — who  was  one  of  the  seven  wonders  of 
Harley  Street.  His  special  speciality  was  to  diag- 
nose his  clients'  complaints  without  asking  them 
their  symptoms.  "  My  dear  madam  " — most  of 
his  patients  were  women,  silly  creatures  ! — "  Not  a 
word,  please  " — this  when  she  began  to  pour  out 
her  troubles — "  I  am  the  doctor  1  hah  !  hah  !  And 
it  is  my  part  to  tell  you  what  your  trouble  is." 
Awe-struck  silence,  of  course.  Then  he  would 
look  very  learned,  ruffle  his  forehead,  screw  up  his 
eyes,  and  gaze  at  her  fixedly  for  a  few  moments 
through  enormous  horn  spectacles.  No  "  put 
your  tongue  out,  please,"  or  "  kindly  cough. 
That's  right!  Again.  Thank  you  ";  no 
"  Would  you  be  good  enough  to  take  a  deep 
breath.  The  very  thing.  Now  ninety-nine. 
Again !  Once  more  please.  That  will  do, 
madam."  Merely  a  fixed  stare.  And  then  he 
would  tell  them  all  their  troubles. 

Mis  fame  spread;  women  raved  about  his 
marvellous  powers,  his  wonderful  gift  of  divina- 
tion; his  bank  account  grew  and  grew  and  grew; 


ROGER  137 

he  bought  a  motor-car — one  of  the  first  on  the 
market.    Rather  wonderful  wasn't  it? 
And  how  do  you  suppose  he  did  it  ? 

(This  space  is  for  meditation.) 

"  Psychology,"  Roger  called  it.  Now  Psycho- 
logy is  the  lost  art  of  understanding  people. 
According  to  Roger  it  is  Psychology  that  tells 
men  that  women  love  to  talk;  that  when  women 
are  ill  they  must  talk  about  their  illness;  that  a 
collection  of  women  in  a  doctor's  waiting-room  are 
bound,  by  the  laws  of  gravitation,  to  discuss  their 
respective  complaints — provided  they  (the  com- 
plaints) are  nothing  very  serious,  and  provided 
also  that  they  (the  women)  are  kept  waiting 
sufficiently  long. 

Doctor  Blank  had  a  very  uncomfortable  waiting- 
room,  and  never  by  any  chance  provided  papers. 
He  always  kept  his  patients  waiting  a  long,  long 
time.  His  consulting-room  did  not  lead  from  the 
waiting-room,  but  was  next  door  to  it.  And — isn't 
it  too  sickening? — he  had  a  peep-hole  and  a  sort 
of  telephone  trumpet  between  the  two  rooms. 
Through  the  peephole  he  saw,  and  through  the 
trumpet  he  heard  everything  that  went  on  in  the 
waiting-room. 

And  do  you  know  that  Roger,  my  husband,  used 
to  think  it  was  a  great  joke  ? 


138  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


XIII 

IT  was  Roger  that  drove  me  to  Christian  Science. 
If  one  is  always  feeling  ill,  living  in  an  atmosphere 
of  illness,  one,  naturally  enough,  is  grateful  to 
anyone  or  anything  that  affords  the  smallest  crumb 
of  relief.  Being  thoroughly  disgusted  with 
doctors  I  suppose  I  was  a  comparatively  easy  prey 
to  Major  W ,  a  retired  Anglo-Indian  and  a  con- 
firmed Christian  Scientist,  confirmed  that  is  by 
opinion,  not  by  a  Bishop. 

I  met  Major  W during  one  of  my  periodical 

pilgrimages  into  gaiety.  He  was  not  one  of 
Roger's  patients.  I  don't'  know  anything  more 
trying  than  to  try  and  be  lively  and  amusing  when 
one  feels  like  dying.  How  in  the  world  our 
wonderful  men  managed  it  during  the  war  is 
beyond  me.  I  don't  think  we  stay-at-homes  ever 
appreciated  them  enough ;  if  we  did  we  certainly 
seem  to  have  forgotten  all  about  them  now. 

Now  it  is  a  great  mistake  to  think  that  all 
Christian  Scientists  are  hard,  callous  creatures, 
pious  frauds,  bursting  with  health,  and  impatient 
of  other  people's  sufferings.  Major  W—  -  was 
one  of  the  most  charming  and  sympathetic  men  I 
have  ever  met,  simply  brimming  over  with  the  milk 


ROGER  139 

of  human  kindness — the  only  kind  of  milk  I  like. 
He  was  a  healer,  or  rather  what  Christian  Scientists 
call  a  "Practitioner";  I  didn't  know  that  at  the 
time,  if  I  had  I  should  most  certainly  have  shunned 
him  like  the  plague.  In  spite  of  all  my  efforts,  he 
saw  that  I  was  not  feeling  well.  Now,  to  be  told 
that  you  are  looking  seedy  when  you  know 
you  are,  and  when  you  have  spent  long  hours 
in  trying  not  to  look  seedy,  is  usually  most  annoy- 
ing. There  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world 
between  feeling  and  looking  isn't  there? 

Major  W was  a  perfect  dear.  This  is  how 

he  broached  the  subject : 

"  My  dear  Mrs  O ,  please  excuse  a  purely 

personal  observation,  but  I  have  been  admiring 
you  for  some  little  time,  and  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  your  looks  belie  your  present  feel- 
ings. Am  I  not  right?  " 

He  looked  so  old  and  wise  and  sweet  as  he  said 
this  that  of  course  I  told  him  all  about  everything. 
When  I  got  to  Roger  and  his  lunatics,  he  nodded 
his  head  several  times.  When  I  had  finished — 
and  he  never  even  interrupted  me  once — he  asked 
me  a  curious  question  : 

11  I  wonder — you  will  think  me  extraordinary  no 
doubt — but  do  you  believe  in  anything,  my  dear 

Mrs  O ?  I  mean — er — do  you  believe  in  the 

existence  of  a  Supreme  Deity?" 

"  Do  you  mean  God?  "  I  asked  in  a  low  voice. 
It  was  rather  an  unusual  topic  and  I  saw  out  of  the 
tail  of  one  eye  a  horrid  creature  in  the  Hussars,  a 
Captain  Something  or  other — who  was  obviously 


I4o  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

listening,  smile  and  cock  an  eyeglass  in  my  direc- 
tion. 

Major  W nodded.  I  feel  sure  that  he  must 

have  noticed  my  uneasiness,  for  a  moment  later 
he  suggested  our  moving  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room  where  there  was  an  alcove  with  two  empty 
chairs,  and  added :  "  My  grey  hairs  must 
be  my  guarantee."  He  was  a  very  gallant  old 
gentleman. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God,  my  dear  Mrs  O ?  " 

he  asked  when  we  had  seated  ourselves. 

I  explained  all  about  my  views  on  religion,  how 
I  had  been  all  sorts  of  things,  and  that  at  the 
present  time  I  was  an  Atheist. 

He  asked  me  what  I  meant  by  Atheist. 

That  was  rather  a  stumper.  I  explained  that 
I  meant  that  I  never  went  to  church,  or  said  any 
prayers — kneeling  down,  or  called  myself  anything 
— except  just  Atheist. 

He  nodded  and  smiled.  He  had  a  sweet  smile 
that  reminded  me  of  little  John.  There  is  a 
wonderful  resemblance  between  old  things  and 
young  things  don't  you  think? 

"  And  who  do  you  thirvk  made  the  world  and  the 
sun  and  the  stars,  the  sea  and  the  sky  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Who  made  all  the  flowers  and  the  trees  and  the 
birds  and  the  beasts?  Who  made  everything 
that's  beautiful?  Who  made  you?" 

"  God,"  I  answered  promptly. 

"  Then  you  believe  in  One  God?  " 

"  Yes,"  emphatically. 

"  Then  you  and  I,  my  dear  Mrs  O ,  have  one 


ROGER  141 

and  the  same  opinion  on  that  score.  We  shall 
be  friends,  for  God  is  a  great  basis  for  friend- 
ship." 

"  And  grey  hairs,"  I  suggested  artlessly. 

His  eyes  twinkled.  He  was  a  perfect  dear. 
"  And  grey  hairs,"  he  repeated  gravely. 

It's  far  too  involved  to  tell  you  now  what  Major 

W told  me  about  Christian  Science,  and  you 

can  find  out  all  about  it  in  Mrs  Eddy's  book,  dull 
as  ditch  water  I  thought.  So  few  women  write 

well,  do  they?  But  Major  W wasn't  a  bit 

dull,  and  he  did  me  an  awful  lot  of  good.  In  fact 
he  cured  me.  Of  course  he  said  that  it  wasn't 
him ;  that  the  cure  came  from  the  Great  Source  of 
all  Healing  to  me  through  him  ;  that  there  was  only 
One  Healer.  Perhaps  he  was  right,  at  any  rate  I 

am  most  grateful  to  him  (Major  W ).  He  was 

never  stuffy,  nor  stodgy,  nor  preachy.  If  he  had 
been  I  shouldn't  have  listened  to  him  for  a  minute. 
His  method  of  curing  people  was  by  ordinary — 
not  auto — suggestion,  putting  new  ideas  into  their 
heads,  and  persuading  them  to  think  things  out 
for  themselves,  all  in  the  course  of  conversation. 
He  used  to  draw  one  out,  not  reduce  one  to  silence. 

And  I  must  say  that  ten  minutes  with  Major  W 

did  me  more  good  than  fifty  bottles  of  Roger's 
medicine. 

Naturally  I  became  very  keen  on  Christian 
Science.  I  called  myself  a  Scientist,  and  practised 
on  all  sorts  of  people.  It  was  great  fun  ;  and  really 
one  could  do  quite  a  lot  of  curing.  In  fact  it  is  a 
curious  thing,  but  one  can  cure  other  people  far 


i42  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

easier  than  oneself.  When  one  is  suffering 
horribly — or  rather  thinking  horribly  that  one  is 
suffering — one  requires  to  be  a  Philosopher  as  well 
as  a  Scientist  to  think  that  one  isn't.  When  other 
people  are  suffering  it  is  quite  easy  to  tell  them  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  pain.  After  a  time,  I 
found  it  better  not  to  tell  them,  merely  to  think — 
hard — that  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with 
them.  Most  sick  people  are  so  impatient  aren't 
they  ? 

Major  W didn't  like  my  curing  people — 

professional  jealousy  I  suppose !  He  always  used 
to  say  that  the  Science  of  Christian  Healing  had 
to  be  learnt  just  like  any  other  Science. 

"  Surely  one  should  practise?  "  I  used  to  say. 

"  By  all  means,  my  dear  lady.  But  for  good- 
ness sake  practise  on  yourself.  Just  think  what 
would  become  of  the  medical  profession  if  day  old 
students  were  to  be  turned  loose  to  practise  on 
the  public." 

"  One  can't  hurt  one's  patients,  can  one?  "  It 
was  a  horrible  thought,  and  out  it  had  to  come, 
Science  or  no  Science. 

'  You  can't  hurt  them,  any  more  than  you  can 
help  them." 

1  But  I  can!  Heaps  of  people  have  told  me 
what  a  lot  of  good  I've  done  them." 

"Men,  I  suppose?"  This  rather  wistfully,  I 
thought. 

I  nodded. 

"  And  women  mostly  come  to  me,"  and  he 
sighed.  'It's  a  great  pity  our  students  can't 


ROGER  143 

practise  quietly,"  he  continued.  "  They  do  our 
Church  so  much  harm." 

"  But  they  don't  ask  money  for  curing  people 
like  properly  appointed  practitioners  do.  I  don't 
think  they  ought  to  charge."  It  was  rather  mean 

of  me  to  say  this,  for  I  knew  that  Major  W 

was  a  qualified  practitioner  himself  and  that 
he  did  charge  a  little  something,  people  said  to 
help  eko  out  his  pension;  but  he  had  never 
charged  me. 

"  It  is  a  moot  question;  Mrs  Eddy  claimed  that 
a  workman  was  worthy  of  his  hire.  Personally  I 
would  far  rather  not  make  any  charge,  however 
small.  But  it  really  does  protect  one  from  hordes 
of  inquisitive  and  idle  people — mostly  women  with 
nothing  to  do.  For  anyone  to  pay  even  a  few 
shillings  these  days  guarantees  that  they  are  at 
least  interested  and  not  merely  curious." 

Rather  a  good  argument,  I  thought. 

Major  W had  a  convincing  way  with  him, 

and  I  gave  up  p/actising  aloud.  Of  course  I  had 
to  talk  about  Christian  Science  and  help  to  spread 
the  good  work.  As  for  practising  on  myself  1  I 
gave  it  up  as  a  bad  job,  and  whenever  I  felt  seedy 
paid  Major  W a  visit — it  was  far  easier.  How- 
ever I  did  try  my  hand  on  Roger — openly.  You 
can  imagine  how  furious  he  was.  It  was  fun. 
And  do  you  know  I  really  believe  that  I  did  help 
to  cure  some  of  his  patients. 

I  might  have  been  a  great  healer  now  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  quite  a  simple  little  thing  that  made  me 
leave  the  Christian  Science  Church.  It  is  the  little 


144  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

things  that  do  make  such  a  difference  in  life,  don't 
they? 

How  many  might-have-been-happy  marriages 
have  been  ruined  by  tiny  trifles  !  Artistic  Temper- 
ament falls  in  love  with  Beauty,  because  she  is 
Beauty  externally,  and  of  course  must  be  beautiful 
inside.  Beauty  is  carried  off  her  feet  by  the  very 
impetuosity  of  Artistic  Temperament ;  he  makes 
love  so  nicely  and  is  so  radiantly  clever !  They 
are  married.  Artistic  Temperament  discovers  that 
Beauty  eats  with  a  knife  or  snores.  Most  upsetting 
and  ugly !  or  that  Beauty  has  no  brain.  Horrible ! 
He  becomes  mournful.  Beauty  has  only  seen  him 
gloriously  happy;  she  doesn't  like  him  in  the 
dumps.  Viola,  mesdames! 

It  happened  after  the  service  during  what  is 
called — if  I  remember  right — "  the  Giving  of  Testi- 
mony." I  was  with  Major  W at  the  time; 

he  had  often  begged  me  to  go  to  church  with  him 
(there  are  four  or  five  hundred  Christian  Science 
churches  now  I  understand),  but  I  always  thought 
it  waste  of  time  to  sit  for  hours  in  a  stuffy  church, 
and  one  always  catches  colds  and  things  in 
churches.  However  he  was  very  anxious;  and  I 
went. 

Christian  Science  services  are  equally  as  boring 
as  other  services.  There  was  far  too  much  "  Mary 
Baker  Eddy,"  and  "  Our  Revered  Founder  "  to 
please  me.  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  to  make  tuppence 
worth  of  difference  who  says  or  does  things  so  long 
as  they  (the  things  I  mean)  are  beautiful.  People 
are  always  so  personal,  aren't  they?  So  long  as 


ROGER  145 

the  author  or  artist  isn't  present  what  on  earth 
can  it  matter  who  or  what  they  are,  or  whether 
they  are  good  looking  or  ugly  ?  So  few  of  us  have 
the  strength  of  mind  to  stand  on  our  own  judgment. 
"  Doctor  So-and-So!  "  we  say.  "  Marvellous!  " 
or  "  by  Rufus  Cashstein,  the  great  sculptor.  Isn't 
it  wonderful !  "  I  don't  do  that.  I'm  not  a  sheep ; 
and  I  refuse  to  be  herded  out  of  my  opinions.  My 
opinion  is  as  much  mine  as  my  face  or  figure ;  and 
every  bit  as  good — if  not  better— than  other 
people's.  Most  Christian  Scientists  are  sheep, 
and  Mrs  Eddy  is  their  shepLerd.  I  have  no  use 
for  shepherds — certainly  not  shepherdesses.  The 
testimony  performance  is  most  trying.  First  a 
woman  bobs  up,  then  some  man,  and  give  their 
experience ;  rather  like  the  Salvation  Army,  but  far 
less  exciting.  One  tells  how  she  was  cured  of 
cancer  by  reading  Mrs  Eddy's  book.  Another  how 
her  grandmother's  life  was  saved  by  one  sentence 
from  Mrs  Eddy's  book.  I  must  say  that  the  men 
seem  rather  more  intelligent  in  their  testimony. 
One  man,  a  doctor,  was  really  quite  impressive. 
He  told,  in  a  lovely  earnest  voice,  how  his  mother 
was  dying  of  an  Incurable  Disease;  how  both  his 
father  (also  a  doctor)  and  himself  had  done  every- 
thing for  her  that  Medical  Science  could  do;  how 
four  or  five — I  forget  how  many — specialists  had 
all  given  her  up ;  how  his  sister  had  suggested 
Christian  Science;  how  they  had  laughed;  how 
eventually,  to  please  his  sister,  he  had  gone  round 
to  a  certain  Practitioner ;  how  ashamed  he  had  felt 
-he  actually  turned  up  his  coat  collar,  so  he  said ; 
K 


146  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

how  the  Practitioner  had  come;  and  "  my  mother 
is  alive  to-day,  and  this  happened  five  years  ago." 
Then  he  went  on  to  tell  us  what  happened  after- 
wards: "  First  our  medicines  went  out  of  the 
window;  then,  after  a  time — and  they  were  very 
hard  tp  part  with,  our  medical  books.  And  now 
both  my  father  and  myself,  once  Medical  Practi- 
tioners, are  Practitioners  in  Christian  Science,  and 
our  practice  has  increased  enormously.  And  that 
is  what  Christian  Science  has  done  for  us." 

All  testimonies  end  with  "  and  that  is  what 
Christian  Science  has  done  for  me";  and  down 
bobs  the  speaker ;  and  up  pops  another. 

I  must  say  that  the  doctor's  speech  quite 
impressed  me,  and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  die 
in  my  new  faith,  and  had  whispered  as  much  to 

Major  W ,  when  the  woman  sitting  next  to  me 

— an  awful  looking  creature!  began  to  speak. 

She  commenced  by  telling  us  how  she  had  been 
travelling1  in  a  train  (second  class  I'm  quite  sure), 
and  had  fallen  asleep.  When  she  woke  up  she 
missed  her  hand-bag,  and  of  course  it  contained 
all  her  money  (just  like  her  I)  The  carriage  was 
crowded.  No  one  had  seen  it.  She  felt  like 
crying.  Then  she  remembered  Mrs  Eddy.  Her 
hand-bag  was  not  lost;  it  was  not  lost;  not  lost; 
not  lost ;  not  lost ;  not  lost !  For  five  minutes  she 
prayed  in  this  strain.  Then  she  opened  her  eyes. 
And  there  was  the  band-bag — she  had  been  sitting 
on  it. 

This  was  bad  enough ;  there  was  worse  to  come. 

"  Another  thing  happened  to  me,"  she  cleared 


ROGER  147 

her  throat — an  unladylike  habit  to  say  the  least. 
"  Two  years  ago  I  suffered  from  ingrowing  toe- 

na " 

I  got  up  and  left. 


XIV 

WHEN  next  I  met  Major  W ,  he  was  most 

apologetic,  and  did  his  level  best  to  mollify  my 
feelings.  He  was  very  sweet  about  it,  and 
explained  very  nicely  that  it  took  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  people  to  fill  a  church. 

"  Why  have  churches  at  all  ?"  I  said.  "  Nasty 
stuffy  places!  " 

'  Well — er — she  would  probably  have  given  the 
same  testimony  out  of  doors." 

"  It  might  have  sounded  less  unpleasant  in  the 
fresh  air,"  I  said. 

1  But,  my  dear  Mrs  O ,  surely  your  faith  is 

strong  enough  to  withstand  so  small  a  thing 

"  Not — ugh  I  the  nasty  creature." 

And  there  we  left  it.  I  still  remained  friends  with 

Major  W ,  but  as  for  going  into  a  Christian 

Science  Church,  or  calling  myself  a  Christian 
Scientist,  it  is  putting  too  much  strain  on  one's 
faith. 


148  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Perhaps  it  was  because  I  stopped  practising  on 
him,  that  Roger  got  worse.  He  had  been  getting 
wild  and  excitable  for  some  time,  but  now  he  got 
steadily  wilder  and  more  excitable.  His  spells  of 
irritability  and  moodiness  became  more  frequent 
and  lasted  longer.  The  servants  began  to  get  terri- 
fied of  him.  Even  Sheila  he  seemed  to  dislike  at 
times.  And  several  of  his. men  patients  suggested 
to  me  that  I  ought  to  consult  a  doctor  about  him. 

But  I  had  had  enough  of  doctors. 

One  day  I  persuaded  Major  W to  come  and 

see  us.  I  had  never  asked  him  before,  because, 
well — Roger  had  become  so  rude  to  my  men 
friends  and  I  didn't  want  to  put  him  in  a  false 
position.  Besides  he  was  quite  a  little  man  and 
Roger  was  enormously  tall. 

He  came;  it  was  very  brave  of  him.  And  it  was 
awful.  I  hadn't  told  Roger  that  a  friend  of  mine 
was  coming,  but  I  asked  him  as  a  favour  to  come 
and  have  tea  with  me.  His  tea  at  this  time  con- 
sisted of  a  brandy  and  soda;  he  had  begun  to  drink 
heavily  again — sometimes  two  bottles  a  day,  so 
Mary,  the  parlour-maid  said. 

I  remember  that  I  was  telling  Major  W— 
about  Spiritualism,  in  which  I  was  just  getting 
interested — it  had  followed  quite  naturally  on 
Christian  Science  and  some  awfully  interesting 
friends  of  mine  were  interested  in  it,  when  in 
stalked  Roger,  looking  as  black  as  thunder. 

He  wouldn't  touch  any  tea,  and  sat  smiling 
horribly  and  licking  his  lips  like  a  tiger.  I  could 
see  that  he  was  in  one  of  his  worst  moods. 


ROGER  149 

Major  W did  his  best;  but  from  the  first  I 

saw  that  it  was  quite  hopeless. 

"  So  it's  you  who  persuaded  my  wife  into  this 
damned  nonsense,"  said  Roger  in  the  silky  voice 
he  put  on  when  he  licked  his  lips. 

"  Don't  you  think  she  is  wonderfully  improved 
in  —  er  --  er  —  health?  "  asked  Major  W— 
pleasantly.     Somehow  one  couldn't   imagine  him 
a  real  soldier — that  is  a  soldier  who  killed  things. 

Roger  gripped  the  arms  of  the  chair — a  wicker 
one — until  they  creaked.  He  looked  positively 
fiendish. 

"  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  she  is — 
er — far  happier,"  continued  Major  W . 

I  was  afraid  to  look  at  Roger. 

"That   is — er — than    she  was   before  she — er- 
before  I " 

I  rang  the  bell. 

Mary  came  in  just  in  the  nick  of  time;  and  while 

I  held  Roger  she  showed  Major  \V downstairs. 

He  wasn't  much  hurt,  poor  little  man. 

I  asked  him  afterwards  to  give  Roger  absent 
treatment.  But  he  said  that  he  was  afraid  that 
Roger  was  a  bad  subject.  Some  arc,  you  know. 


150  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


XV 

I  WAS  terribly  worried,  for  Roger  got  worse  and 
worse.  It  was  like  a  nightmare  to  live  in  the  same 
house  with  him.  Mary  said  that  he  was  injecting 
stuff  into  his  arm — how  she  knew  I  don't  know.  A 
good  many  of  my  friends  advised  me  to  have  him 
put  away,  and  all  of  them  urged  me  to  leave  him. 
Mother  and  father,  who  had  come  up  to  stay  a  week, 
left  within  twenty-four  hours.  I  must  say  that 
Roger  excelled  himself  on  that  occasion.  He 
insisted  on  appearing  at  every  meal,  refused  to 
shake  hands,  and  never  opened  his  mouth ;  only 
looked.  Mother  wanted  me  to  come  at  once  to 
their  hotel.  And  it  was  as  much  as  I  could  do 
fo  prevent  father  from  sending  then  and  there  for 
the  police. 

Poor  Roger  1  He  was  quite  mad.  It's  a 
horrible  thing  to  have  to  confess,  but  there  it  is. 
So  far  there  are  no  signs  of  Sheila  going  mad,  so 
I  suppose  it  was  because  of  his  lunatics.  I  am 
quite  sure  that  one  can't  live  in  an  atmosphere  of 
lunacy  without  becoming  affected  oneself ;  even  I 
was  beginning  to  feel  quite  strange.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  Major  W I  am  certain  that  I  should 


ROGER  151 

have  gone  mad ;  he  was  an  old  dear !  also  he  quite 
made  up  his  mind  that  I  was  a  saint  in  staying 
with  Roger. 

I  still  think  that  it  was  rather  sporting  of  me 
to  stick  to  Roger.  But  somehow  I  felt  that  I 
couldn't  leave  him  all  alone.  Besides  he  hadn't 
always  been  mad;  and  I  hoped  that  perhaps  he 
might  get  better  some  day. 

I  shall  never  forget  how  awful  he  was  when  I 
had  little  John,  and  Evelyn,  and  Edward  to  stay 
with  me  for  a  week  during  their  holidays.  John 
was  twelve  then,  Edward  eight,  and  Evelyn  half- 
way between  the  two.  Poor  dear  Edward's  mother 
appeared  to  be  very  kind  to  them,  and  they  seemed 
very  fond  of  her,  which  was  rather  unnatural  of 
them  I  thought;  children  are  such  curious  little 
things,  aren't  they?  Of  course  it  was  best  for 
them  that  she  should  be  kind,  although  I  didn't 
think  that  they  ought  to  have  been  quite  so 
devoted  to  her.  Twice  a  year  they  used  to  come 
up  to  me  for  a  week,  and  once  or  twice  I  went 
to  see  them,  but  Edward's  brother's  wife  was 
rather  unpleasant,  so  I  had  long  ago  given  up 
my  visits. 

Little  John  especially  used  to  enjoy  coming  to 
see  me;  he  still  remembered  what  his  father  had 
told  him,  and  it  was  delicious  the  way  he  would 
take  care  of  me.  He  always  called  me  "  little 
mother."  Wherever  he  was,  whether  at  school 
(I  must  say  Edward's  brother  sent  them  all  to 
excellent  schools,  both  the  boys  went  to  C- 
College)  or  with  Edward's  mother  (they  called  her 


i52  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"  Grannie,"  but  I  never  could)  he  always  wrote  to 
me  once  a  week.  I  have  all  his  letters  now.  What 
funny  little  letters  those  first  ones  were!  and  how 
carefully  he  must  have  chosen  the  notepaper ! 
Sometimes  there  was  an  animal  on  the  left  hand 
top  corner — he  loved  animals ;  sometimes  the 
picture  of  a  soldier — Highlanders  were  his 
favourites.  His  first  letter  was  written  when  he 
was  four,  copper-plate  and  rather  smudgy ;  it  went : 
"  My  dear  mamma,  how  are  you  thank  you  very 
much  for  the  lovely  toys  you  sent  me  and  grand- 
mamma too  good-bye  from  loving  little  John." 
Underneath  someone  had  written  "  Master  John 
did  this  all  by  himself."  Somehow  I  always  knew 
that  he  would  be  a  soldier — mther  sad  I  thought, 
for  he  was  very  like  poor  dear  Edward  and  would 
be  certain  to  be  sent  wherever  there  was  danger. 
Some  soldiers  are ;  while  others — the  ones  who 
become  famous — usually  stay  at  home  to  administer 
things.  I  remember  the  letter  that  convinced  me 
that  he  would  be  a  soldier — I  was  rather  proud  of 
it  once.  It  was  written  from  his  first  boarding 
school;  there  wn^  a  Piper — Highland  regiment — 
occupying  most  of  the  first  page.  , 

"  My  dear  Mother  "  (boarding  schools  always 
make  boys  rather  reserved) 

"  I  know  such  a  lot  of  the  boys  now.  I  went  to 

J—  -  W 's  home  last  Saturday  and  I  liked  it 

very  much.  I  played  football  there.  Wh<T.  ar<> 
you  coming  to  sec  me.  I  Inve  drilling  and  the 
Sergeant  sa>s  I  am  the  best  boy.  I  can  play 


ROGER  153 

cricket.     When  is  Baby  going  to  send  me  some 

flowers.     I  send  my  love  to  you.     Now  good-bye. 

"  From  your  loving  John  "  (even  the 

"  little  "  had  gone). 

There  they  are  my  piles  of  love  letters,  all  tied 
up  in  pink  ribbon :  baby  scribbles,  pictures  of  sail- 
ing boats  and  battleships,  valentines;  and  what  a 
lot  of  kisses — little  John  loved  kissing — in  this 
bundle.  In  that:  more  sedate  epistles,  pictures 
rather  better  drawn,  still  quantities  of  kisses.  And 
this,  all  with  that  hateful  "  passed  by  the  field 
censor  "  stamp,  the  last.  I  don't  know  why  I 
keep  them  :  it  only  makes  me  cry  to  read  them  now. 

Roger  was  in  one  of  his  worst  tantrums  when 
the  children  came.  For  a  day  or  two  he  kept  to 
himself,  then  he  swore  at  Evelyn  on  the  stairs. 
Little  John  heard  him;  so  did  I,  and  I  came  out 
just  in  time  to  see  the  fun. 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  my  sister  like  that?  " 
I  could  only  see  the  back  of  him,  but  the  attitude 
and  the  red  ears  were  poor  dear  Edward  to  the 
life. 

"How  dare  I?  You  little  beast!"  And 
Roger,  very  white  and  scowling  horribly,  darted 
up  the  staircase. 

I  quite  expected  little  John  to  run — Roger  looked 
positively  dangerous ;  not  a  bit  of  it.  He  stood  his 
ground,  with  Evelyn  behind  him,  and  as  Roger 
came  within  reach,  hi-  kicked  him  hard  on  the  shin. 
Roger  swore  again  as  he  rubbed  his  leg,  then 
grabbed  him  by  the  collar. 


154  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

I  screamed;  and  William — who  acted  as  porter 
and  valet  to  Roger — came  running  up.  From  the 
back  premises  appeared  Mary  and  cook. 

Before  them  all  Roger  spanked  little  John  until 
he  was  tired.  Then  he  dropped  him.  Roger's 
hand  was  scarlet.  Little  John's  face  was  deathly 
white. 

"  I'll  teach  you  to  be  impertinent  to  me,  you 
little  brute  I  " 

"  You're  a— a— big  bully!  "  And  little  John's 
face  worked  as  he  fought  back  the  tears.  He  still 
stood  firm,  and  his  eyes  blazed. 

Roger  made  a  motion  to  seize  him  again.  That 
was  too  much  even  for  William,  who  took  hold 
of  Roger's  arm  from  behind,  while  cook  grabbed 
the  other,  and  I  caught  up  little  John — he  was  tiny 
even  at  twelve — and  carted  him  off  upstairs. 

Of  course  they  couldn't  stay  in  the  house  after 
that,  and  I  wasn't  going  to  send  them  back  to 
Edward's  mother  before  the  week  was  up,  so  I  and 

Mary  took  them  to  B Hotel.  We  had  a  lovely 

time.  Little  John  voted  that  it  was  the  best  holi- 
day that  he  had  ever  had. 


XVI 

IT  was  horrid  when  the  week  came  to  an  end  and 
they  had  to  go  back  to  Edward's  mother,  and  I 
to  Roger. 


ROGER  155 

It  was  then  that  I  had  the  greatest  temptation  to 
leave  Roger.  I  was  never  meant  for  a  doctor's 
wife,  certainly  not  a  mad  doctor's,  and  I  had  come 
to  loathe  the  gloomy  old  house  in  Harley  Street 
and  everything  connected  with  it.  I  went  to  see 

Major  W .  He  did  his  best  to  persuade  me 

not  to  go  back. 

"  My  dear  Mrs  O ,"  he  said.  "  It's  like 

putting  your  head  into  a  lion's  jaws.  I  don't  think 
even  I  could  stand  it." 

"  What  would  you  suggest?  "  I  asked. 

14  Well — er — er .  My  dear  Mrs ,  my 

own  d " 

I  knew  what  was  coming  and  I  didn't  feel  like 
being  made  love  to — even  by  him.  Besides  I  have 
always  hated  the  idea  of  judicial  separations  and 
divorces  and  things;  they  are  such  a  proof  of 
failure,  abject,  miserable  failure  to  hold  the  man 
one  has  married.  I  don't  like  being  beaten — even 

by  circumstances.  If  Major  W had  tried  to 

persuade  me  to  go  back,  I  might,  who  knows  what 
I  might  have  done? 

Like  a  dutiful  wife  I  returned  to  Roger. 

That  very  evening  he  tried  to  commit  suicide  by 
throwing  himself  out  of  my  bedroom  window.  I 
was  just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  catch  him  by  the 
legs  and  hang  onto  them  for  dear  life,  until  Mary 
came.  Between  us  we  got  him  in  and  shut  the 
window.  A  policeman  who  was  passing  saw 
everything;  and  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  thought 
that  we  were  trying  to  murder  Roger.  Anyhow  he 
rang  at  the  bell,  and  wouldn't  be  put  off  by 


156  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

William.  So  I  had  io  make  up  a  story  that  a.  pel 
parrot  had  escaped  and  that  Roger — with  our 
assistance — had  tried  to  get  it  from  the  coping.  I 
don't  know  whether  he  believed  me  or  not;  at  all 
events  he  went  away. 

For  days  after  I  could  see  the  same  policeman 
eyeing  our  windows.  I  pointed  this  out  to  Roger, 
who  seemed  rather  impressed  and  kept  away  from 
the  windows  for  quite  a  long  time. 

When  he  wasn't  trying  to  murder  me — I  slept 
with  the  revolver  that  poor  dear  Edward  had 
given  me  under  the  mattress — Roger  was  always 
threatening  suicide.  He  frightened  me  horribly. 
To-day  I  am  beginning  to  doubt  whether  he  would 
ever  have  had  the  moral  courage.  I  know  most 
people  say  that  persons  who  threaten  to  do  things 
to  themselves  seldom  do  them,  and  they  may  be 
right — I  think  they  are — now.  But  at  the  time  one 
doesn't  think  like  that.  Look  how  unpleasant  and 
awkward  it  would  have  been  for  me  if  Roger  had 
destroyed  himself.  As  it  was  there  were  and  are 
to  this  very  day  people  who  say  that  I  sent  Roger 
off  his  head.  Edward's  brother  I  know  says  so; 
so  do  several  of  my  own  relations.  The  only  ones 
who  think  that  I  was  a  most  dutiful  and  uncom- 
monly good  wife  to  Roger — which  I  was — are  his 
own  relations. 

I  must  say  I  think  relations  are  the  cause  of 
nine  out  of  ten  unhappy  marriages.  Relations 
must  make  mischief ;  trouble  seems  to  be  the  very 
breath  of  life  to  them.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  poor 
dear  Edward's  people  I  should  never  have  married 


ROGER  157 

Roger,  and  it  is  quite  on  the  cards  that  I  would 
have  remained  a  widow  all  my  life — black  always 
did  suit  me.  Then  again  one's  parents  always 
seem  to  think  that  they  have  some  sort  of  hold 
over  one,  a  sort  of  ninety-nine  years'  lease. 

My  advice  to  young  married  couples  is  to  make 
up  their  minds  from  the  moment  they  are  married 
to  keep  away  at  all  costs  from  their  relations,  and 
to  live  their  own  lives  in  their  own  way.  A  young 
couple,  however  much  they  love  each  other,  must 
quarrel  a  little  before  they  come  to  understand  each 
other's  point  of  view.  Sooner  or  later  they  are 
bound  to  settle  down  if  they  are  alone.  With  her 
mother  or  his  hanging  around  and  giving  wretched 
advice  at  wrong  moments,  they  are  nearly  certain  to 
go  from  bad  to  worse.  Her  mother  will  make  friends 
with  him,  his  with  her;  that  is  step  number  one 
when  the  in-laws  are  really  astute.  He  will  say 
when  she  has  suggested  that  mamma  (hers)  should 
go  away  (for  a  little):  "  My  dear  child,  I  can't 
make  out  why  you  want  to  get  rid  of  your 
own  mother,  most  unnatural  of  you  I  Besides, 
she's  so  useful,  and  she  does  understand  house- 
keeping. Now  if  it  had  been  my  mother." 

"  Your  mother  doesn't  interfere.  She's  so 
sweet,  and  so  understanding  and  helpful.  And 
she  does  realise  that  one  isn't  born  a  housekeeper." 

He  grunts  and  scowls  at  this  point.  For  the 
truth  of  the  matter  is  that  His  mother  always  takes 
Her  part;  and  usually  tells  Him  that  She  is  far 
too  good  for  Him. 

There  is  only  one  way  to  deaf  with  mothers-in- 


158  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

law  in  a  really  satisfactory  manner,  and  that  is  to 
get  rid  of  them.  If  for  any  reason  you  can't  do 
that  (which  I  don't  admit)  then  She  must  manage 
Her  own  mother,  and  He  His,  without  the  slightest 
interference  from  the  other.  I  have  seen  that  plan 
work  quite  well. 

Heaven  help  the  poor  young  couple  who  think 
that  "  mamma  will  be  so  useful  to  look  after 
baby,"  and  put  the  thought  into  action.  They 
might  just  as  well  make  a  present  of  the  baby  to 
mamma  and  have  done  with  it.  Besides,  what  can 
a  grandmother  know  about  modern  children? 

There  is  no  doubt  that  we  were  all  meant  to 
marry  and  have  children  and  look  after  our  children 
ourselves.  I  feel  very  strongly  on  this  point 
because  mine  were  all  taken  away  to  be  looked  after 
by  someone  else ;  and  it  was  relations  that  did  it. 

Some  mothers  say  that  they  only  love  their 
children  when  they  are  at  the  cuddly  stage;  that 
afterwards  they  become  so  much  trouble.  What  I 
should  have  liked  would  have  been  the  afterwards. 
Children  are  such  fascinating  things  to  watch 
growing,  far  more  amusing  and  interesting  than 
animals  or  flowers  or  vegetables.  Even  Sheila 
was  interesting  in  a  fat  sort  of  way ;  and  even  she 
was  taken  away  from  me  when  Roger  died. 


ROGER  159 


XVII 

ROGER  died  of  abscess  of  the  brain.  It  was  very 
sad.  Father  said  that  it  was  most  fortunate;  that 
most  mad  people  lived  for  ages.  I  suppose  it  was 
lucky  in  a  way  :  he  might  have  been  so  much  worse. 
At  the  last  he  suffered  very  little,  poor  dear!  He 
passed  away  in  my  arms,  and  I  think — yes,  I  am 
quite  sure — that  he  was  very  sorry  for  all  his  un- 
kindness  to  me — before  he  died.  His  last  words 
were:  "  What  a  fool  I've  been!  What  a  fool!  " 
Before  the  end  he  became  quite  peaceful :  and 
whenever  I  kissed  him,  he  would  smile. 

If  only  he  hadn't  gone  mad  I  am  sure  that  we 
should  have  been  the  happiest  of  couples,  for  he 
really  did  love  me  tremendously.  But  he  would 
spend  his  time  trying  to  cure  lunatics. 

Looking  back  on  my  life  with  Roger  I  must  say 
that  I  think  I  was  a  most  devoted  wife  to  him. 
There  are  not  very  many  women  who  would  nurse 
a  mad  husband  for  two  years  and  three  months,  are 
there  ? 

One  thing  was  rather  mean  of  Roger;  I  don't 
know  when  he  did  it — sometime  when  I  was  out 
getting  a  breath  of  fresh  air  I  suppose — he  made  a 
new  will.  When  first  we  were  married  we  made, 
each  of  us,  a  will  leaving  everything  to  the  other; 


160  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

and  both  wills  were  in  my  strong  box  at  the  bank. 

It  was  rather  a  shock  when  Mr  F ,  a  beastly 

little  lawyer,  whom  I  hated,  produced  another  will, 
when  Roger  was  safely  buried,  countermanding 
the  first  and  leaving  everything,  with  the  exception 
of  two  hundred  a  year,  in  trust  for  Sheila.  As  if 
I  couldn't  have  been  trusted  to  look  after  my  own 
child  1  And — still  more  disgusting ! — naming  his 
mother  and  the  same  little  beast  of  a  lawyer  as 
trustees.  Roger  knew  very  well  that  I  didn't  like 
his  mother,  and  that  I  hated  all  lawyers. 

Of  course  he  was  quite  mad  when  he  made  the 
will,  and  father  wanted  me  to  contest  it.  But  law 
courts  are  such  unpleasant  places,  aren't  they? 
Always  raking  up  horrid  things  about  one. 
Besides,  I  never  have  been  mercenary. 

Trustees  have  been  the  bane  of  my  life.  I 
wonder  why  people  prefer  to  trust  anyone  else 
other  than  their  own  wives.  Most  unnatural  I 
think.  Money  was  made  to  be  spent,  not  put  in 
trust.  I  don't  suppose  that  there  ever  was  a 
woman  who  has  had  so  many  trustees  as  I  have 
had.  Two  from  poor  dear  Edward,  two  from 
Roger,  and  three — but  I  mustn't  anticipate. 

I  gave  Sheila  to  Roger's  mother.  It  was  quite 
certain  that  she  would  get  her  whatever  I  did,  so 
I  put  a  cheerful  face  on  the  matter  and  let  her  go 
to  Ireland.  Roger's  mother  wanted  me  to  go  too, 
but  I  had  had  quite  enough  of  the  Irish. 

It  was  a  delightful  change  to  be  my  own  mistress 
again,  and  I  felt  just  like  a  girl  "  coming  out  "  for 
the  first  time.  I  was  young,  and  the  long  nursing 


ROGER  161 

of  Roger  had  given  me  a  sort  of  spirituelle 
look.  Not  a  wrinkle!  and  the  French  are  quite 
right,  children  do  improve  one's  figure — if  one 
takes  care.  I  had  only  four  hundred  a  year,  but 
all  my  children  were  being  looked  after,  and  I 
was  free,  absolutely  free  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life. 

People  were  meant  to  be  free,  I  think.  None  of 
us  were  born  to  be  slaves.  No  wonder  the  working 
classes  are  striking  for  more  play  and  less  work. 
After  all  it  is  only  freedom  they  are  fighting  for. 
Poor  dears  1  they  have  had  enough  slavery  in  all 
conscience,  and  precious  little  freedom.  Slavery 
to  their  parents  first  of  all,  then  to  their  school 
masters,  then  to  other  masters.  Why  should  there 
be  masters?  I  don't  see  why  everyone  shouldn't 
work  together  and  play  together.  I  never  had 
any  slaves — at  least  not  real  slaves;  even  Tiny, 
who  is  the  only  person  who  looks  upon  me — even 
now — as  her  mistress,  is  more  of  a  friend  than  any- 
thing else;  and  she  only  calls  me  "  milady  "  in 
public. 

I  am  awfully  keen  on  Liberty,  and  if  ever  I 
go  into  Politics  (I  suppose  politics  has  a  capital 
P)  it  will  be  as  a  champion  of  freedom.  One  can 
appreciate  what  one  hasn't  had — at  least  only  a 
taste  of.  I  have  written  a  lovely  poem  about 
Liberty,  which  I  am  setting  to  music;  it  is  far 
jollier  than  the  "  Red  Flag  "  (the  song  the 
Socialists  sing),  which  is  rather  common  I  think. 

If  any  woman  ever  really  made  a  quick  mqve, 
I  did  when  I  left  Harley  Street.  I  simply  got 


162  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Mary  to  pack  up — I  took  her  with  me  as  maid,  gave 
all  the  other  servants  two  months'  wages,  and  left. 

The  front  door  key  I  sent  Mr  F ,  my  trustee, 

with  instructions  to  do  what  he  liked  with  every- 
thing. 

Within  four  hours  of  the  funeral  I  was  at  B 's 

Hotel.  I  like  B—  -'s  Hotel;  everyone  knows  me 
there,  and  they  are  very  kind  and  obliging. 

I  suppose  people  thought  that  I  was  cold  and 
unkind.  I  know  a  great  many  of  the  mourners 
did.  But  I  felt  that  I  couldn't  stay  in  that  awful 
house  another  night. 

I  do  think  funerals  are  terribly  trying,  doo't 
you?  No  sooner  is  -the  corpse  dead  than  the 
vultures — in  the  shape  of  sorrowing  relatives — come 
pouncing  down.  While  the  coffin  is  still  in  the 
house  one  can  see  them  looking  at  things;  after 
the  funeral  it's  awful!  "  Of  course  that  is  mine, 
what  use  could  she  have  for  dear  Aunt  Jemima's 
portrait?  By  Solomon  or  Simpin  or  Somebody — 
R.A.  too,  and  signed  my  dear!  "  or  "  The  poor 
boy  always  promised  me  that,"  or  "  Isn't  that  a 
lovely  fruit  basket?  real  Georgian !  with  the  family 
crest,  too;  she  can't  claim  that;  and  the  dear  boy 
always "  It  is  positively  indecent  how  rela- 
tions behave  after  a  funeral. 

When  I  told  Roger's  mother  that  I  was  going, 

she  looked .  "  You  can't!  with  the  poor  dear 

boy  scarcely  buried,"  was  what  she  said. 

"  Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead,"  said  I.  And 
I  added  so  that  everyone  could  hear:  "  You  can 
all  squabble  over  these  sticks  to  your  hearts'  con- 


ROGER  163 

tent;  I  won't!   •!  make  you  a  free  gift  of  them 
all;  that  is  if  Roger  hasn't." 
Then  I  left. 

There  was  a  sale  afterwards  I  heard.  I  expect 
that  the  two  trustees  got  most.  They  sent  me  a 
set  of  Roger's  shirt  studs  and  an  old  bible. 

No  one  has  ever  called  me  grabbing. 


NUMBER    THREE 
GEORGE-MY  THIRD 

I 

AS  this  book  deals  with  my  three  husbands, 
and  not  me,  I  must  skip  several — well  one 
year  and  seven  months  to  be  exact,  which 
was  the  interval  between  poor  Roger  and  Number 
Three. 

It  was  planchette — or  the  "  Ouija  board  "  as 
the  Americans  call  it — that  persuaded  me  to  marry 
George.  I  hadn't  the  slightest  intention  of 
marrying  anyone — in  fact  Roger  had  given  me 
a  positive  distaste  for  matrimony,  and  I  didn't  even 
know  of  George's  existence.  It  was  rather  curious 
I  think. 

Now  there  is  more  in  planchette  than  meets  the 
eye.  Of  course  everyone  knows  it  is  a  little  piece 
of  wood,  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  heart,  and  mounted 
on  three  little  wheels,  with  a  pencil  stuck  through. 
The  pencil  is  for  the  spirits  to  write  with.  Some- 
times when  the  spirits  were  shy  I  used  to  make  it 
write  myself,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  am  rather 

165 


166  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

clever  at  guiding  it  in  the  way  it  should  go.  But 
I  could  scarcely  have  made  it  write  the  name  of  a 
man  of  whom  I  had  never  even  heard,  could  I  ? 

At  that  time  I  and  Gwen,  my  eldest  sister  (I 
have  mentioned  her  before  somewhere),  and  two 
friends  (men)  were  investigating  Spiritualism, 
which  was  not  fashionable  as  it  is  now.  Really  we 
were  pioneers  and  frightfully  keen,  and  we  had 
discovered  all  sorts  of  strange  things  about  table 
rapping  and  turning,  flying  banjoes,  and  weird 
materialisations;  in  fact  we  were  considered 
experts,  rather  mad.  Great  fun !  On  this  parti- 
cular evening  we  were  consulting  planchette. 

One  of  the  first  rules  to  remember  about 
planchette  is  darkness.  There  are  several  reasons 
why  one  must  be  in  the  dark.  Of  these  the  two 
most  important  are:  because  it  is  far  easier  to 
concentrate  one's  mind ;  and  because  it  is  far  more 
difficult  to  make  planchette  write  what  one  wants 
it  to — in  the  dark. 

Gwen  was  very  poor  at  planchette;  it  simply 
wouldn't  do  anything  for  her.  With  me  it  behaved 
splendidly.  Many  people  ha*re  told  me  that  I  am 
psychic;  I  am.  At  that  time  I  was  working  with 

Captain  A ,  rather  a  fine  looking  man  in  the 

Hussars;  I  rather  think  he  has  appeared  in  these 

pages  before.  Captain  A was  always  such  a 

tractable,  docile  creature,  not  in  the  least  psychic, 
that  I  rather  liked  to  work  with  him.  With  me  he 
worked  splendidly,  rather  on  the  principle  of  the 
positive  and  negative  wires  in  electricity ;  I  being 
the  positive  and  he  the  negative.  Of  course  one 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  167 

can't  be  quite  sure  about  these  things,  as  there  is 
bound  to  be  a  lot  of  guess  work  about  the 
Unknown.  But  at  all  events  as  soon  as  our 
fingers  touched  one  could  feel  a  sort  of  current; 
and  then  planchette  would  simply  prance  along. 

We  used  to  keep  a  black  book — black  is  always 
such  a  respectable  colour  I  think — and  enter  in  it 
all  the  questions  and  answers.  Most  scientific  I 
can  assure  you.  I  remember  one  series — most 
wonderful !  I  and  Captain  A were  in  control. 

"  What  are  YOU?  "  we  asked,  as  soon  as  It 
began  to  move. 

"  A  WOMAN  "  (beautifully  written  in  capitals). 

"  How  can  YOU  be  a  woman  if  you  are  a 
spirit?  " 

"  Spirit  of  a  woman." 

"  Are  you  a  good  spirit?  " 

"  No — Yes — No — Yes."  We  asked  this  question 
several  times,  always  with  the  same  result.  I 
thought  that  it  was  good  because  the  last  word  was 
Yes,  and  being  a  woman  she  was  quite  entitled 

to  change  her  mind.  Captain  A agreed.  The 

others  said  no,  because  the  first  word  was  No.  So 
we  entered:  "  Open  to  discussion  "  in  the  book — 
in  brackets. 

"  Is  it  wrong  for  us  to  consult  you?  " 

"  Yes— No— Yes— No."  This  was  rather 
puzzling,  for  the  Yes  and  the  No  had  changed 
places.  However,  we  all  decided  that  it  couldn't 
be  wrong;  and  so  we  entered  "Ditto"  in  the 
book — in  brackets. 

The  next  question  involved  rather  a  long  dis- 


i68  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

cussion,  and  when  we  did  ask  it  planchette  behaved 
so  badly  that  we  thought  that  we  must  have  lost 
touch  with  our  woman.  To  make  sure,  Captain 

A ,  rather  sensible  at  times,  suggested  asking 

for   a   sign.     Quite  a   brilliant   suggestion. 

'  Please  (it  is  always  well  to  ask  planchette 
nicely)  give  us  a  sign,  so  that  we  can  recognise 
you." 

And  then  it  produced  the  following  figure : 


Now  anyone  who  knows  anything  about  drawing 
or  Euclid — and  most  people  do  nowadays — must 
realise  how  difficult  it  is  to  draw  a  circle  without 
a  pair  of  compasses.  We  had  no  compasses. 
Afterwards  we  all  tried  hard  to  make  planchette 
draw  a  circle.  Quite  impossible.  And  yet  there 
was  the  figure  staring  at  us  as  large  as  life.  It 
was  most  uncanny.  Then  again  no  one  could 
interpret  the  figure.  I  thought  that  it  was  meant 
to  represent  a  spirit  face.  Captain  A —  -  said  that 
it  certainly  did  look  like  it;  at  the  same  time  he 
revoked  his  former  opinion  and  thought  that  she 
must  be  a  wicked  woman.  Gwen  thought  that  it 
was  a  Cubist  portrait  of  the  spirit.  Mr  de  la 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  169 

M ,  Gwen's  partner,  insisted  that  it  was  a  com- 
bination of  zodiacal  signs;  he  looked  it  up  after- 
wards, but  couldn't  find  anything  exactly  like  it. 
So  we  left  it  a  mystery;  rather  extraordinary. 

On  this  particular  evening  I  and  Captain  A 

were  working  planchette,  while  Gwen  and  Mr  de 

la  M were  listening.  We  had  asked  all  sorts 

of  questions  and  were  sitting  with  our  fingers 
touching  when  suddenly  planchette  began  to  write. 
When  it  had  stopped  we  turned  up  the  light  and 
read: 

"  Message  for  G." 

Of  course  G  was  for  Gwen,  who  got  very 
excited. 

"  Please  give  us  the  message,"  we  asked. 

"  No— No— No." 

That  was  rather  a  stumper.  Captain  A 

suggested  that  Gwen  should  ask  It  herself.  Gwen 
asked  it  something,  but  refused  to  tell  us  what 
it  was.  Again  It  dashed  out  three  frantic 
No's. 

"  Ask  It  if  you  are  going  to  marry  Mr 

McD ,"  I  suggested.  Gwen  was  supposed  to 

be  in  love  with  Mr  McD ,  who  was  a  young 

Scotch  lawyer,  rather  ugly,  but  quite  clever  and 
amusing.  She  did  like  him  tremendously,  I  know ; 
but  he  was  rather  a  poor  parti,  and  father  did 
not  approve. 

I  could  see  that  there  was  an  awful  struggle 
going  on  in  Gwen's  mind — for  planchette  can  be 
most  canny.  After  a  time  she  said:  "  All  right." 
Captain  A and  I  sat  down  again,  and  pinned 


170  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

down  a  clean  sheet  of  paper.  Mr  de  la  M 

turned  out  the  lights.  And  we  were  off. 

"  Ask  It  nicely,  out  loud,"  I  ordered  Gwen. 

"  What  difference  can  it  make?  "  Gwen  was 
rather  shy  really. 

"  All  the  difference  in  the  world,"  said  Mr  de 
la  M . 

"  Go  Oh,  Gwen,"  I  said.  I  could  feel  the 
current  itching  to  get  to  work. 

"  Will  I  ever  marry  Dennis,  please?  "  came  a 
sad  little  quaver  from  Gwen. 

"  Steady  the  Buffs!  "  said  Mr  de  la  M ;  he 

was  in  the  Civil  Service. 

Planchette  bounded  forward. 

Presently  It  stopped;  Mr  de  la  M hurriedly 

turned  on  the  light;  and  Gwen  gave  a  shriek  and 
turned  ghastly  white.  A  large  NO  (in  capitals) 
was  on  the  paper. 

"  Hard  luck!  "  said  Mr  de  la  M ;  he  was 

awfully  fond  of  Gwen  and  would  have  made  her 
a  splendid  husband  if  he  hadn't  been  so  poor  too. 
Isn't  it  sad  how  poor  men  are  always  so  much 
nicer — that  is,  in  themselves — than  rich  ones? 
Then  he  turned  to  me — he  was  rather  angry 
because  Gwen  refused  to  be  comforted: 

11  Now  then,  Mrs  O ,  it's  your  turn." 

41  Please,  who  am  I  going  to  marry  next  time?  " 
I  asked  It.  I  am  not  shy. 

"  Rather  a  tax  on  Its  imagination,  what?  " 
said  Captain  A . 

"  It's  got  no  imagination,  being  a  Spirit,"  I 
said.  And  he  subsided. 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  171 

And  then  it  was  that  planchette  did  the  most 
extraordinary  thing  that  I  have  ever  seen  It  do. 
It  wrote  a  name  that  none  of  us  even  knew : 

"  SIR  GEORGE  L ." 


II 

UNTIL  we  looked  him  up  in  "  Debrett  "  not  one  of 
us  knew  anything  about  my  future  Number  Three. 
Then  we  discovered  that  he  actually  did  exist  and 
that  he  was  altogether  most  suitable.  His  name 
was  George;  he  was  a  baronet — nothing  new  and 

nasty,  the  fifteenth;  he  owned  S Court  in 

Somerset,  several  square  miles  and  villages  in 
Devon,  hundreds  of  square  miles  in  Scotland,  a 
few  farms  in  Ireland,  and  a  town  house  among 
other  things;  and  he  was  just  ten  years  older  than 
myself;  and  English;  and  of  course  quite  well  off. 

It  was  rather  exciting  and  we  all  drank  to  his 
health.  They  wanted  to  drink  to  mine,  at  least 

Captain  A did,  but  I  said:  "  Nol  That  in 

all  probability  it  was  Gwen  who  would  marry  Sir 

George  L ;  that  planchette  had  stated  very 

clearly  that  It  had  a  message  for  Gwen. 

"  But  Gwen — er  Miss  D—  -  got  hers,"  said 
Mr  de  la  M . 

"  Perhaps  it  was  only  the  first  instalment,"  said 
I.  But  something  told  me  that  it  was  not  for 
Gwen.  At  times  I  am  awfully  psychic. 


172  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


III 

WHAT  probably  happened,  I  think,  was  that  some 
sort  of  Telepathy  was  set  going  between  George  and 
myself ;  that  is  that  our  subconscious  minds  began 
to  communicate — I  was  thinking  about  him  quite  a 
lot — on  the  wireless  telegraph  principle. 

Somehow  I  am  quite  certain  that  there  is  far  more 
in  Telepathy  than  most  people  imagine.  If  sound 
travels  in  waves  why  shouldn't  thoughts?  After 
all  wireless  telegraphy  is  nothing  but  two  instru- 
ments in  tune  with  each  other.  So  I  can't  see  why 
two  minds  in  tune  with  one  another  shouldn't  be 
able  to  communicate;  and  I  am  sure  that  thought 
does  travel  in  waves.  Just  look  how  this  League 
of  Nations'  thought  has  travelled.  A  Persian 
Prophet,  called  the  Bab,  invented  it  years  ago,  so 
I'm  told.  Then  it  went  to  Tolstoy  in  Russia. 
After  him  to  Mr  Wilson  in  America.  And  now 
everybody  is  thinking  about  it — or  at  least  talking 
about  it.  Then  just  notice  how  our  Literature  has 
changed,  quite  suddenly.  In  Victorian  days 
authors  wrote  novels  all  about  life  and  people,  and 
they  were  rather  particular  about  their  style;  in  fact 
they  must  have  studied  writing  as  an  Art.  Nowa- 
days anyone  can  write,  and  no  one  bothers  about 
style  or  form  or  how  words  should  be  used.  Words 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  173 

are  nothing  to  us  modern  authors;  and  when  all  is 
said  and  done  what's  in  a  word?  What  really 
counts  is  the  spirit  behind  the  words.  The 
Victorians  were  very  materialistic;  we  are  distinctly 
spirituelle — rather  an  improvement,  I  think. 

The  change  in  Literature  is  another  example  o\ 
Telepathy.  People  nowadays  haven't  the  time  to 
read  very  much,  and  they  want  the  essence  of  the 
thing  in  as  few  words  as  possible;  rather  an 
advantage  to  the  publishers  too,  now  that  paper 
is  so  scarce.  Of  course  I  know  that  some  people 
say  that  we  authors,  if  we  took  a  little  more  time 
and  trouble  with  our  works,  ought  to  be  able  to 
wrap  up  our  spiritual  ideas  in  nice  language.  But 
that  would  mean  hard  work,  and  work  isn't  very 
popular  with  us  writers ;  then  again  we  must  ?peed 
up  production  like  everything  else.  Anyhow  it's  a 
very  good  thing  I  think  that  the  Public  is  not  too 
critical  about  style,  otherwise  so  many  of  us 
wouldn't  be  able  to  write  books.  I  am  quite  sure 
that  I  shouldn't  have  been  able  to  in  Victorian  days. 

Then  again  the  same  thought  has  communicated 
itself  to  our  painters  and  composers.  Some  old- 
fashioned  people  dislike  the  Futurists;  I  don't.  It 
is  quite  easy  to  see  what  the  matter  is  with  them ; 
they  think  that  they  have  got  messages  to  give — 
spiritual  messages,  and  they  can't  be  bothered  with 
external  trifles;  besides  they  are  in  a  hurry.  Our 
composers  are  just  the  same,  all  in  a  great  hurry, 
and  all  yearning  after  the  Unseen.  It  is  a  sort  of 
artistic  Christian  Science  sweeping  over  the  world. 
Matter  is  nothing.  I  felt  that  way  once — just  a 


174  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

little — when  I  was  a  Christian  Scientist.  Now  I 
know  better;  I  suppose  I  have  grown  out  of  that 
stage. 

Matter  is  something,  in  spite  of  all  our  authors, 
artists,  composers,  and  Christian  Scientists.  Matter, 
that  is,  natural  matter,  is  extremely  beautiful. 
Poor  dear  Edward  was  quite  right.  Nature  is  never 
out  of  perspective,  out  of  proportion,  nor  ugly; 
Nature  is  never  ugly.  It  is  when  we  create  things 
that  they  are  ugly.  I  hate  ugliness  in  any  shape 
or  form  (I  think  I  mentioned  that  before),  and  I 
don't  care  one  brass  farthing  what  people  or  even 
critics  say,  if  a  thing  is  ugly,  then  I  know  that  it  is 
Bad.  A  thing  that  is  Good  must  be  Beautiful.  If 
I  am  beautiful,  really  beautiful,  there  must  be  a 
great  deal  of  good  in  me.  Whoever  said  that 
"  Beauty  is  in  the  eye  of  the  beholder  "  is  quite 
right;  because  we  each  one  of  us  can  recognise 
Beauty  when  we  see  it.  The  trouble  is  that  so  many 
of  us  are  afraid  to  trust  our  own  judgment.  If  only 
everyone  trusted  themselves  and  judged  things  by 
their  Beauty,  the  world  would  become  a  very 
different  place.  But  we  are  so  tied  down  by 
Fashion  and  Convention  and  Other  People's 
Opinions;  at  least  most  people  are.  I'm  not. 

Returning  to  Telepathy,  I've  got  a  theory  that 
Telepathy  was  the  Universal  Language  before  the 
Tower  of  Babel  days;  and  they  say  that  woman  is 
incapable  of  original  thought ! 

While  I  am  on  biblical  notions,  I  once  had 
another  Telepathic  communication.  For  years  and 
years  heaps  of  people  have  been  trying  to  solve 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  175 

the  mystery  of  what  happened  to  Cain  and  his 
descendants.  Some  say  that  they  became  Germans, 
because  they  (the  Germans)  have  got  square  heads 
and  rather  an  unpleasant  manner.  One  night- 
these  things  always  come  to  me  at  night -tin- 
answer  came  in  a  flash.  I  wasn't  even  thinking 
about  the  wretched  Cain  and  I  don't  know  what 
brought  him  into  my  mind;  I  suddenly  thought 
about  the  mark  and  how  God  had  said  that  he  and 
his  descendants  should  be  wanderers  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  and  how  no  one  should  kill  or  harm  them. 
And  all  at  once  something  said,  as  clear  as 
anything:  "  MONKEYS."'  George,  my  third 
husband — this  part  is  about  him — was  fearfully 
impressed  when  I  told  him  about  it  at  breakfast  next 
morning.  He  wanted  me  to  write  a  book  on  it. 

"  You  see,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  what  better 
mark  than  a  tail  ?  and  monkeys  are  wanderers,  and 
no  one  kills  them — at  least  not  more  than  once. 
They  cry  so  horribly,  my  dear;  just  like  a  child, 
my  dear;  most  uncanny,  my  dear." 

And  then  he  told  a  long  story  about  some  friend 
of  his  who  had  once  shot  a  monkey  in  mistake  for  a 
tiger.  It  (the  story)  lasted  all  breakfast  time,  and 
before  it  was  finished  I  was  sorry  that  I  had 
mentioned  monkeys. 

That  was  George  all  over.  He  would  talk;  and 
he  was  so  uninteresting — just  like  a  brook  babbling 
— most  monotonous!  Nothing  could  stop  George 
once  he  had  got  properly  started.  On  and  on  and 
on  he  would  go — between  mouthfuls;  and  one 
had  to  listen.  There  was  only  one  consolation — it 


176  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

gave  one  plenty  of  time  to  plan  some  brilliant 
repartee. 

I  had  him  about  the  monkeys.  When  he  had 
quite  finished — he  always  coughed  when  he  had 
quite  finished — I  said,  very  sweetly: 

"  But,  George,  didn't  the  Bible  say  that  the 
mark  was  On  their  foreheads?  " 


IV 

GOODNESS  knows  what  George  was  doing  at 
Biarritz,  for  he  disliked  Society  and  didn't  skate 
nor  ski.  He  said  that  he  was  there  for  his  health ; 
and  he  certainly  seemed  to  hate  the  place.  He  was 
lonely  too,  anyone  could  see  that,  always  taking 
long  tramps  by  himself ;  and  as  for  things  feminine, 
he  actually  seemed  terrified  at  the  mere  sight  of  a 
skirt. 

I  must  say  it  was  an  awful  shock  to  find  that 
George  was  staying  in  the  very  same  hotel  that  I 
had  carefully  selected.  And  the  funny  part  about 
it  was  that  while  I  had  chosen  it  for  its  reputed 
gaiety,  he  had  decided  upon  it  for  its  excellent 
cuisine  and  seclusion. 

It  always  is  a  shock  when  one  meets  one's  future 
husband  for  the  first  time.  Somehow  one  seems 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  177 

to  know — that  is  if  one  is  psychic  like  I  am.  I 
suppose  that  it's  a  sort  of  magnetic  current  that 
begins  working,  anyhow  one  can  almost  always 
feel  something.  In  George's  case  it  was  much 
stronger  than  in  Roger's  or  poor  dear  Edward's; 
probably  because  of  planchette. 

George  was  very  shy  with  women.  I  think  it 
was  because  he  imagined  that  he  was  a  good  catch 
and  wanted  to  protect  himself;  he  certainly  had  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation  very  acutely,  not  that 
I  recognised  it  at  the  time,  but  I  found  out  about 
it  afterwards.  However,  he  got  well  over  it, 
poor  darling.  Now  I  like  shy  men,  in  fact  I  like 
all  men — as  I  think  I  mentioned  before;  and  I  can 
manage  shy  men.  It  is  really  quite  easy.  The 
secret  is  :  (I'm  divulging  it  in  case  any  of  my  poor 
million  unmarried  sisters  know  a  shy  man  who  is 
also  eligible)  To  avoid  them.  Most  shy  men 
are  fair.  George  was  almost  an  albino;  a'l  but  the 
eyes.  I  don't  think  I  could  stand  a  pink-eyed  man. 
Now  fair  men  are  funny  creatures.  Some  women 
think  them  difficile  because  they  are  silent  and 
reserved.  Other  women  take,  them  for  towers  of 
strength  for  the  same  reason.  Not  a  bit  of  it. 
They  appear  all  these  things  on  account  of  their 
excessive  shyness.  Again  a  fair  man  is  always 
suspicious — another  trait  of  shyness ;  and  he  always 
jumps  to  conclusions.  A  fair  man  seldom  thinks 
much,  and  his  brain  works  more  slowly  than  that 
of  a  dark  man.  A  fair  man  is  generally  tall;  and 
he  always  thinks  that  people — women  especially — 

are  excessively  interested  in  him.     He  is  almost 
M 


178  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

always  conceited — George  was.  Shyness  and 
conceit  are  very  closely  allied. 

A  fair  man,  like  a  fair  woman,  likes  to  be  liked. 
He  always  wants  to  be  the  silent  centre  piece  or 
corner  stone  in  a  crowd.  So  long  as  one  looks  at 
him  he  is  delighted;  but  if  one  speaks  to  him  he 
becomes  suspicious. 

The  right  way  to  acquire  the  heartfelt  hatred  of 
a  fair  man  is  to  try  to  be  nice  and  charming  and 
vivacious  to  him.  Then  he  immediately  jumps  to 
the  conclusion  that  one  is  after  him,  or  that  one 
wants  to  borrow  something. 

The  only  way  to  attract  his  attention  is  to  ignore 
him;  to  go  about  one's  business  as  if  one  hadn't 
even  noticed  his  existence.  In  fact  to  act  in  his 
presence  as  if  one  was  rather  more  shy  and  more 
suspicious  and  more  silent  than  himself.  Then  he 
will  immediately  decide  that  you  must  be  someone 
after  his  own  heart,  and  perhaps  even  more 
important  than  himself. 

A  fair  man  is  like  a  child.  It  is  quite  useless 
making  advances  to  a  child.  One  must  wait  until 
they  make  advances.  They  will ;  if  one  takes  no 
notice  of  them. 

George  was  the  most  eligible  bachelor  in 
Biarritz ;  so  naturally  every  woman  in  the  Hotel 
was  openly  after  him.  Several  young  Americans 
were  positively  indecent  the  way  they  dogged  his 
footprints  in  the  snow  and  tried  to  fall  downstairs 
into  his  arms. 

Of  course  I  could  have  had  George  introduced 
to  me  the  very  first  day,  we  had  several  mutual 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  179 

friends  in  the  place,  but  I  said  no.  Fair  men  are 
always  romantic  at  heart;  and  George  should  have 
his  Romance.  Being  English,  very  conservative, 
and  shy  it  was  equally  certain  that  Romance  would 
have  to  take  George  by  the  hand — very  gently  but 
firmly — and  lead  him — also  very  gently  and 
firmly;  otherwise  he  would  be  likely  to  take  Her 
for  something  else.  I  rather  wished,  I  remember, 
that  I  had  not  given  up  mourning;  black  always 
suits  fair  people. 

For  three  weeks  I  avoided  George.  On  several 
occasions  I  saw  him  buttonhole  a  friend  of  mine — 
a  man  of  course,  and  I  could  imagine  from  the 
glances  in  my  direction  what  he  was  talking  about. 
But  at  the  first  step  in  my  direction  I  would  bolt. 

George  became  more  and  more  interested. 
Once  he  almost  spoke  to  me  on  the  stairs.  He  had 
a  room  somewhere  on  the  roof ;  he  was  always  most 
economical.  I  shrunk  shyly  to  one  side.  He 
stood  stock-still,  and  I  could  feel  him  eyeing  me 
as  I  walked  down — rather  faster  than  usual. 

Another  thing  that  impressed  George  tremend- 
ously was  that  I  didn't  ski  nor  skate.  It  was 
rather  a  trial  for  I  love  skating;  but  George  was 
to  be  my  third  husband,  planchette  said  so. 

Heaps  of  people,  even  philosophers  say  that 
happy  marriages  are  most  frequent  between  ill- 
assorted  couples,  that  is  between  the  pair 
whose  tastes  are  utterly  different  on  every  point. 
Rubbish  !  Like  attracts  like,  if  it  doesn't  it  is 
the  exception  that  proves  the  rule.  Poor  dear 
Edward  loved  me  because  in  some  things  I  was 


180  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

like  him.  Roger  loved  me  for  the  same  reason, 
but  for  other  things.  The  woman  who  wants  to 
win  a  man  and  keep  his  love  must  have  similar 
tastes  to  that  man  ;  if  she  hasn't  got  them  naturally, 
she  must  cultivate  them  artificially.  Similarity  is 
the  essence  of  real  love.  Dissimilarity  is  the  road 
to  the  Divorce  Court.  A  woman  who  marries  a 
doctor  must  interest  herself  in  his  patients ;  I  did— 
that  is,  in  the  men  patients.  A  woman  who 
marries  a  soldier  must  study  soldiering.  Poor  dear 
Edward  was  a  soldier,  and  everyone  said  that  I 
was  a  splendid  soldier's  wife. 

If  a  man  is  worth  marrying  he  is  certainly  worth 
cultivating;  and  the  theory  of  cultivating  anything 
must  be  studied.  Sisters,  study  your  lovers  and 
your  husbands.  And  if  you  study  them  carefully 
you  will  find  a  lot  of  good  in  them ;  then  you  can 
cultivate  that  good.  All  my  husbands  improved 
vastly  under  my  treatment.  With  another  woman 
Edward  might  have  become  a  deserter.  Roger 
would  probably  have  developed  into  a  dissolute 
rake,  and  George  would  most  certainly  have  been 
an  "  indispensable."  With  me  none  of  these 
things  happened.  They  all  died;  but  that  was 
hardly  my  fault. 

While  I  was  avoiding  him  I  studied  George  very 
carefully.  I  avoided  him  because  I  saw  that  he. 
appreciated  being  avoided.  I  gave  up  skating 
because  he  didn't  skate.  He  used  to  write 
occasional  letters  to  the  "  Times  ";  I  sent  several 
letters  to  the  "  Daily  Mail  ";  some  were  printed. 
He  was  frightfully  keen  on  books;  I  became  so. 


GEORGE— MV    THIRD  181 

He  loved  killing  things;  I  killed  things.  He 
hunted  a  good  deal — he  had  his  own  pack  of 
Harriers;  I  hunted  a  good  deal.  At  Biarritz  he 
was  convalescing  from  something  or  other;  so 
was  I. 

There  is  more  Romance  in  books  than  in  real 
life,  I  think,  and  it  was  a  book  that  led  George 
to  me.  I  used  to  sit  out  on  the  verandah  in  a 
fur  coat,  convalescing  and  reading.  I  had 
discovered  a  lovely  corner  from  where  I  could 
see  what  was  happening  outside.  George 
discovered  the  corner,  and  one  day  I  found  him 
sitting  next  to  my  chair.  I  was  in  two  minds  about 
bolting,  but  he  looked  so  lost  to  the  world  in  an 
old  book — I  couldn't  even  see  the  name,  it  was 
so  old — that  I  decided  to  sit  down.  I  had  a  lovely 
book  with  me,  the  "  Life  and  Letters  of  Elizabeth 
Barrett  Browning."  I  always  think  that  Elizabeth 
Barrett  must  have  been  such  an  interesting  invalid 
and  certainly  she  was  a  woman  who  knew  how  to 
win  and  keep  a  husband.  Then  again  she  was 
wonderful  the  way  she  turned  her  liabilities  into 
assets.  So  many  people — women  especially — make 
such  a  fuss  about  their  liabilities,  .if  they  haven't 
got  a  thing,  so  often  they  sit  and  grumble  about  it. 
Always  most  boring  to  beholders. 

If  one  has  not  got  a  thing  one  should  either 
make  up  one's  mind  to  get  it — if  it  is  something 
that  one  can  get,  like  a  husband-  or  else  to  make 
other  people  realise  how  happy  one  is  in  not  having 
it — Irke  physical  strength  or  cleverness. 

I  was  very  interested  in  my  book,  so  was  George 


i82  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

— after  a  little  while.  I  could  feel  him  glancing 
surreptitiously  at  it  every  now  and  again;  when 
he  wasn't  looking  at  me.  Presently  I  heard  a 
bang;  his  old  book  had  fallen  or  he  had  thrown  it 
down.  Then  he  coughed.  He  had  rather  a  nasty 
cough,  and  I  wondered  whether  he  felt  cold,  he 
hadn't  a  rug  or  a  fur  coat ;  and  I  remembered  that 
he  had  been  ill,  poor  fellow.  It  was  rather  a 
struggle  not  to  speak. 

He  coughed  again.  Presently  he  got  up  and 
walked  past  me  to  the  edge  of  the  verandah. 
Several  times  he  looked  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of 
one  eye.  Then  he  sat  down  again,  lie  was  cold; 
poor  dear  his  nose  was  beginning  to  look  quite 
blue.  I  remember  wondering  whether  he  drank. 
I  really  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer;  besides  I  had 
two  rugs  and  a  fur  coat. 

"  Won't  you  have  one  of  my  rugs?  "  I  said. 
"  You  must  be  cold:  and  really  you  should  take 
care  of  yourself  if  only  for  your  wife's  sake." 

"  I'm  not  married,"  he  said.  '  And  thanks 
awfully.  Are  \«>u  sure  you  can  spare  it?  You 
mustn't  get  cold,  you  know,  and  you  must  be 
precious  to  a  lot  of  people." 

"  John,"  his  fve.s  goggled,  "  might  miss 
me,"  I  said.  "  And  Evelyn  "  —he  sighed — 
thankfully  1  thought,  "  and  Edward,  and — no  I 
don't  think  that  Sheila  would  mind  what  happened 
to  me." 

"  Four?  " — he  seemed  rather  anxious. 

"  All  with  their  grandmothers." 

"  And.  and  vour  husband?  " 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  183 

11  Two,"  I  said.  He  stared  wildly.  "  Both 
dead." 

'  And  you  are  all  alone?  " 

"  All  alone." 

"  You  poor  little— 

"  Don't  you  like  her?  "  And  I  held  out 
Elizabeth  Barrett. 

"I  think  she's  the  most  wonderful  woman  in 
the  world,"  said  George. 

Little  did  George  know  that  only  the  week  before 
I  had  wired  for  her.  Men  always  like  Mrs 
Browning.  She  is  so  romantic,  isn't  she? 


GEORGE  didn't  in  the  least  mind  about  poor  clear 
Edward,  or  Roger,  or  little  John,  or  Evelyn,  or 
Edward,  or  Sheila  He  even  laughed  about 
Edward's  brother  and  his  wife.  Honesty  (with 
simplicity)  is  always  the  best  policy  in  matrimonial 
ventures.  If  a  man  knows  that  you  have  been  a 
good  wife  to  two  husbands,  and  loved  them, 
naturally  he  feels  fairly  certain  that  you  will  love 
him  and  make  him  :\  good  wife.  Practice  always 
does  make  perfect. 

1  have  no  patience  with  silly  creatures  who  cram 
their  lovers  with  lies.     What  is  the  good  of  it  ? 


184  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Truth  will  out.  And  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of 
marrying  a  man,  and  then  losing  his  love  ?  I  must 
say  I  do  like  efficiency  in  all  things.  Inefficient 
servants  or  workmen  I  can't  stand.  And  an  ineffi- 
cient wife  is,  to  me,  the  most  pitiable  of  animals. 
The  woman  who  wants,  above  all  things,  to  marry 
and  have  children  and  a  happy  home  and  a  loving 
husband  must  learn  to  be  efficient.  If  that  is  one's 
chosen  profession — and  with  most  of  us  it  is — we 
must  make  up  our  minds  to  make  good  at  it.  One 
can  feel  sorry  for  the  suffering  and  sick,  but  it  is 
quite  beyond  me  to  show  sympathy  for  the 
inefficient  woman  who  has  rushed  into  matrimony 
merely  for  the  sake  of  finding  someone  to  support 
her,  and  who  is  too  lazy  to  make  any  return  for 
that  support.  Divorce  is  too  good  for  them ;  they 
ought  to  be — educated. 

I  know  that  most  of  us  like  to  grumble  about  our 
husbands  and  complain  that  they  are  difficile. 
I  have  done  so  myself.  But  after  all  it  is  the 
difficult  thing  that  is  most  worth  doing;  any  fool 
can  do  an  easy  thing.  Some  men  are  such  good- 
natured  easy-going  creatures  that  anyone  can  marry 
them,  and  they  will  be  good  to  anyone.  So  are 
some  women.  These  are  the  salt  of  the  earth, 
always  staid  and  stolid  and  wholesome,  never 
temperamental.  Roger  was  horribly  tempera- 
mental ;  poor  dear  Edward  half  and  half ;  and 
George  was  pure  salt  until — but  I  mustn't  antici- 
pate. Anyone  could  have  married  George ;  and  I 
can't  understand  how  he  escaped  matrimony  for  so 
long — probably  because  his  huntresses  didn't  know 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  185 

much  about  hunting — big  game.  I  do;  I  have  shot 
tigers  on  foot  with  poor  dear  Edward. 

George  proposed  five  days  after  the  book  episode. 
One  can  cram  a  lot  into  five  days,  and  really  I  was 
getting  rather  tired  of  convalescence.  People 
nowadays  must  have  plenty  of  Love,  so  the  pub- 
lishers say,  and  my  shorthand  typist  who  is  writing 
this  (no,  he  is  not  a  "  ghost  "  but  rather  a  nice 
boy)  tells  me  that  I  haven't  said  enough  about 
Love.  So  I  suppose  I  must. 

Of  course  one  can't  really  write  about  Love  unless 

one  happens  to  be  a  J—  -  G ,  or  a  C G , 

that  is  no  one  who  has  ever  felt  Love  even  remotely. 
Love  is  too  big  to  be  put  into  small  print.  No 
writers  of  genius  ever  write  of  Love;  being  big 
themselves — they  know  how  enormous  Love  is. 
They  may  just  skirt  the  shores  of  the  Big  Sea; 
but  they  leave  the  swimming  about  in  it  to  the  little 
fishes. 

Some  men  are  professional  lovers  and  naturally 
they  know  all  about  making  love  nicely.  They 
understand  all  the  little  tricks  of  the  trade:  the 
impassioned  gestures,  the  half-pathetic  semi- 
rapturous  sighs,  the  lowered  lashes,  the  laboured 
breathing,  the  rumpled  hair,  the  nicely  modulated 
tone  of  passionate  pleading,  the  hoarse  cry  of 
triumph.  All  this  they  know ;  but  they  don't  know 
how  silly  it  all  seems  to  the  woman  who  has  been 
loved  before. 

Personally  I  can't  stand  professional  lovers  at 
any  price,  perhaps  because  I  know  all  their  little 
ways.  When  I  was  young — that  is  very  young — 


186  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

they  used  sometimes  to  amuse  me;  and  some  few 
times  they  very  nearly  did  deceive  me.  Fortun- 
ately something  in  the  back  of  my  brain  always 
came  to  my  rescue.  There  are  times,  when  one  is 
feeling  dreadfully  bored,  or  tired,  or  out  of  sorts, 
when  one  can  listen  to  love-making  by  a  profes- 
sional ;  just  as  poets  go  off  by  themselves  to  listen 
to  a  brook  babbling  I  suppose.  But  not  when  one 
is  healthy  and  sane  and  happy. 

George  had  never  made  love  before.  Not  that 
it  would  have  made  much  difference  how  he  did 
it,  for  I  knew  that  he  was  going  to  be  my  husband, 
and  I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  accept  him. 

It  happened,  just  as  everything  in  life  happens, 
quite  simply ;  and  the  scene  was  the  same  verandah 
and  the  same  corner.  We  were  sitting  (rather 
closer  together)  after  dinner.  Except  for  ourselves 
the  place  was  deserted.  There  was  a  moon,  I 
remember,  and  the  great  snow-bowed  trees  looked 
almost  mysterious  in  the  pale  light.  All  the  world 
outside  seemed  dead;  even  the  sounds  of  revelry 
from  the  Hotel  came  to  us  very  faintly.  We  might 
have  been  alone  in  the  middle  of  nowhere,  George 
and  I. 

For  a  long  time  we  sat  in  silence ;  somehow  words 
seemed  out  of  place — too  small — in  all  that  great 
silence. 

"  You're  not  cold?  "  asked  George  presently. 

"Cold!.  Who  could  feel  cold  with  all  this 
beauty?  It's  wonderful!  Makes  one  want  to  die 
of  sheer  delight;  and  how  tiny  it  makes  one  feel," 
I  whispered. 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  187 

"  It's  you  who  are  wonderful,"  said  George. 

It  was  coming;  but  I  would  put  it  off  for  a  little 
longer.  "  Just  look  at  that  great  mountain  " 
George  drew  his  chair  nearer — "  looking  down  at 
us  almost  pityingly.-  We  little  things  come  and 
go,  and  there  it  stands  while  Time  lasts,  an  eternal 
monument  to  the  Creator." 

George  was  very  religious,  in  a  conventional  sort 
of  way.  Most  men  are.  He  took  my  hand — the 
one  nearest  to  him. 

"  And  He  made  you,"  he  said. 

"  Husht  you  mustn't  say  such  things  here,  they 
sound  almost  sacrilege." 

"  Love  isn't  sacrilege,"  said  George. 

"  Love  I  Love!  Who  knows  what  Love  is?  " 
I  whispered,  trying  to  withdraw  my  hand. 

"  I  do,"  said  George — very  positively. 

And  then  .  .  .  oh  I  it's  no  use!  I  can't  give 
George  away  even  in  a  book. 


VI 

THE  fast  chapter  looks  rather  cold  in  type.  My 
amanuensis  says  that  it  is  not  half  strong  enough, 
that  I  missed  a  splendid  opportunity  of  writing 
something  really  popular.  Perhaps  I  did,  but 
somehow  Popularity  seems  less  important  now  than 
when  I  started  to  write.  Perhaps  the  love  of 


i88  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

popular  approval  is  only  a  part  of  me.  I  don't 
mind  putting  my  own  thoughts  into  print,  but  I 
can't  sell  my  friends' ;  and  again  I  might  be  wrong 
about  them,  although  I  am  so  wonderfully  psychic. 
Perhaps  the  reason  is  that  I  am  still  a  teeny  bit 
Victorian. 

We  were  engaged  for  six  months,  and  having 
no  wish  to  marry  George  under  false  pretences  I 
introduced  him  to  little  John,  and  Evelyn,  and 
Edward,  and  I  even  persuaded  Roger's  mother  to 
bring  Sheila  over  from  Ireland.  George  took  it 
all  quite  nicely  and  said  that  they  were  most  healthy 
children.  In  fact  I  could  see  that  he  was  most 
impressed  by  their  appearance;  and  I  could  feel 
the  thought  in  his  head :  that  I  would  undoubtedly 
be  a  good  mother  for  his  son  and  heir. 

George  being  a  Baronet  naturally  wanted  a  son 
to  succeed  him;  otherwise  the  property  and  title 
would  go  to  a  cousin  whom  he  hated.  I  met  him 
somewhere — a  Captain  in  the  Life  Guards — and  I 
must  say  that  he  looked  at  me  most  suspiciously. 
I  suppose  I  am  rather  like  that;  I  soon  forget  past 
troubles  in  the  matter  of  the  moment.  Anyhow  I 
made  up  my  mind  then  and  there,  Sheila  or  no 
Sheila,  come  what  might  that  he  should  not  be 
George's  heir.  I  don't  know  what  George  would 
have  thought  had  he  been  psychic  like  myself,  for 
we  weren't  even  married  when  I  reached  this  deter- 
mination. 

George  was  very  kind  to  the  children ;  step- 
fathers-to-be always  are.  Some  widows  may  be 
deceived  by  these  kind  intentions ;  certainly  I  have 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  189 

heard  lots  of  them  say  that  they  are  marrying  So 
and  So  "  because  he  is  so  tond  of  the  children,  my 
dear;  and  I  am  sure  he  will  be  an  excellent  father 
to  them." 

I  had  previous  experience  with  a  step-father, 
now  I  have  had  two,  so  I  think  I  am  qualified  to 
say  that  no  step-fathers  are  good  fathers  to  any  bijt 
their  own  children.  After  all,  it  isn't  natural  that 
they  should  be.  One  finds — before  the  wedding 
—that  they  will  all  pretend  to  be  devoted,  but 
it  is  so  obviously  pretence,  and  they  always 
appeal  to  the  step-children's  pockets,  never  to 
their  hearts. 

I  must  confess  that  I  had  an  ulterior  motive — 
not  connected  with  myself — in  marrying  George. 
Little  John  was  growing  up — he  was  fourteen,  so 
were  Evelyn,  and  Edward,  and  I  did  think  that 
married  to  George  I  should  be  able  to  make  the 
Chancery  Court  give  them  back  to  me.  Also  I 

thought  that  S Court  would  be  a  lovely  place 

for  them  to  spend  their  holidays.  Of  course  I  said 
nothing  of  this  to  George. 

Curiously  enough  the  only  one  of  the  children 
who  did  not  like  the  idea  of  another  step-father  was 
little  John. 

"  That's  not  my  father,"  he  said,  after  the  first 
interview.  "  My  father  was  a  fine  man — a 
soldier." 

"  But  this  father  is  a  fine  man  too,"  I  urged. 
"  He's  a  Baronet.  Everyone  calls  him  '  Sir  '- 

"  We  call  the  masters  at  school  '  Sir,'  "  inter- 
rupted little  John. 


igo  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"  That's  different !    Only  small  boys  call  masters 
Sir.     Everyone  respects  your  new  father." 
"  I  don't,"  said  little  John. 
"  Why?  " 
"  Because  he's  a  conceited  ass." 


VII 

THE  wedding  was  a  splendid  affair,  and  George's 
mother — all  my  husbands  had  mothers — was  really 
a  most  regal-looking  old  lady — rather  wrinkled. 
She  certainly  did  everything  most  beautifully. 
George  was  her  only  son  and  her  husband  had  been 
dead  for  many  years,  he  was  killed  in  the  hunting 
field  when  George  was  quite  young. 

I  rather  fancy  that  George's  mother  did  her  level 
best  to  persuade  him  not  to  marry  me.  I  know  she 
did  emphatically  not  like  me;  but  George  was  most 
obstinate.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  always 
say  "  yes  "  and  mean  "  no."  Yes  always  saves 
arguments  and  in  itself  means  very  little  after  all. 
I  used  to  call  him  "  I  go,  sir;  and  went  not." 
George  was  rather  in  awe  of  his  mother,  and  never 
contradicted  her.  I  did.  As  she  had  not  been 
used  to  contradiction  she  instinctively  disliked  the 
contradictor.  I  know  she  had  definitely  decided 
years  ago  that  the  right  wife  for  George  was  a  lady 
of  the  name  of  Ursula,  daughter  of  Sir  S 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  191 

W who  lived  in  the  same  county.  After  the 

wedding  we  became  quite  friendly.  She  was 
perfectly  harmless,  rather  robust,  and  devoted  to 
George.  I  didn't  blame  George  in  the  least  for  not 
marrying  her ;  I  wouldn't  have  done. 

George's  mother  took  rather  a  fancy  to  father, 
who  was  of  course  at  the  wedding,  and  afterwards 
very  prominent  at  the  reception.  In  fact  father  was 
quite  the  master  of  ceremonies,  and  I  must  say  he 
looked  most  distinguished.  Uncle  Walter,  rather 
worn  and  less  lively  than  usual,  turned  up  in  full 
gala  kit,  same  old  check  waistcoat,  striped  flannel 
trousers,  and  grey  top  hat.  He  drank  surprisingly 
little  champagne — for  him,  said  -it  was  rotten  bad 
stuff;  it  may  have  been  for  all  I  know,  certainly 
George's  mother  was  always  most  thrifty. 

I  enjoyed  everything  most  awfully;  I  always  do. 
And  it  was  rather  a  coup  to  have  captured 
George.  That  day  at  any  rate  father  was  proud  of 
me.  So  was  mother  in  her  sweet,  gentle  little  way. 
As  for  my  sisters,  poor  things,  it  must  have  been  a 
trial,  for  they  were  still  unmarried.  Gwendolyn 
did  her  best  to  spoil  things  by  whispering:  "  How 
could  •  you — after  Edward?"  She  was  always 
rather  fond  of  poor  dear  Edward.  But  I  wasn't 
going  to  be  upset  by  anyone. 

George  had  suggested  spending  the  honeymoon 
—where  do  you  suppose?  at  a  little  place  where  he 
said  he  had  been  as  a  boy,  on  the  shores  of  Loch 
Lomond,  "  lovely,  my  jewel,"  called  Inveruglas. 
I  told  him  all  about  Inveruglas  and  poor  dear 
Edward — at  least  not  quite  all.  So  we  decided 


192  MY     THREE     HUSBANDS 

to    go    to    Paris    instead.     I    wanted    some    new 
frocks. 

I  always  believe  in  frankness;  it  pays.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  world  more  disarming  than  absolute 
frankness;  it  is  far  more  efficacious  than  any 
subtlety.  Subtlety  is  quite  useless  with  subtle 
people;  while  frankness  knocks  them  "  Galliway 
West  "  (an  expression  that  George  was  very  fond 
of).  George  was  subtle;  he  had  learnt  it  from  his 
mother,  I  suppose.  So  with  him  I  was  frankness 
itself — with  all  the  sang  froid  of  a  child.  In 
some  ways  George  was  rather  an  old  maid ;  fear- 
fully finnicky  about  nothing,  rather  snobbish— not 
his  fault,  poor  dear,  and  horribly  addicted  to  gossip 
with  other  men,  really  because  he  hadn't  enough  to 
do.  I  cured  him. 

The  cure  commenced  in  Paris.  George, 
remembering  Inveruglas  and  poor  dear  Edward  I 
suspect,  had  ordered  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Palais 
Royal  Hotel.  The  suite  consisted  of  sitting-room, 
my  bedroom,  a  bath-room,  and  George's  bedroom. 
The  sitting-room  was  in  the  middle — rather  a  bad 
arrangement.  At  the  end  of  the  first  week, 
George,  after  an  extra  hearty  dinner,  broached  the 
subject  of  conjugal  relationship. 

"  You  know— er — my  jewel,  that  in  our  walk  in 
life  husband  and  wife  have  separate  rooms.  At 

S Court  our  rooms  are  quite  a  long  way — er — 

apart;  one  can't  be  too  particulai  how  one — er — 
behaves  these  days  in  our — er— walk  in  life. 
Servants  will  talk.  So,  my  jewel,  I  would  suggest  " 
—two  or  three  coughs —  "  that — cr — "  another 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  193 

cough    or    two — "  when    you    would — er ".     I 

looked  at  him  between  the  eyes,  as  poor,  dear 
Edward  had  taught  me  to  do  when  facing  a  savage 
animal.  George  withered  perceptibly,  poured  him- 
self a  brandy  and  soda,  gulped  down  most  of  it, 
and  continued:  "  when  you  would — er  condescend 
to  appreciate  my  appearance,  you  might  leave  your 
shoes  outside  your  door,  old  girl." 

"  What  for?  "  I  asked. 

44  Well — er — as  a  sign  that  you — er — would  be 
— er — willing  to " 

44  George,  don't  you  realise  that  I  have  been 
married  three  times?  "  I  said.  "  Why  all  this 
hypocritical  humbug?  " 

44  My  dear,  it's  always  done  in  our  walk  in  life." 

44  Is  it?  And  how  do  you  know?  "  I  asked, 
raising  my  eyebrows — rather  a  fetching  habit  of 
mine. 

44  Well— er " 

4  Why  don't  you  say  that  your  mother  told  you 
so,  George?  " 

He  swallowed  the  rest  of  the  brandy  and  soda. 
Then  he  resumed  the  conversation  : 

4  You  see,  my  jewel,  shoes  are  such  innocent 
little  things,  quite  above  suspicion;  and  servants 
talk  so.  My  mother  says " 

14  Divil  take  the  servants,  and  the  shoes,  and 
your — well  never  mind,"  said  I. 

George  collapsed.     I  continued : 

4  Now,  George,  let  us  be  frank.  Either  we  are 
narried  or  we  are  not.  Either  marriage  is  indecent 
or  it  is  not.  If  you  expect  to  see  my  shoes  outside 

N 


194  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

my  door  you  will  have  to  wait  until  Doomsday ; 

and  then  there  won't  be  any  shoes.     Besides  the 

servants  would  take  them  down  to  clean." 
"  Well  what  do  you  suggest,  old  lady?  " 
"  That  you  write  and  tell  your  mother  that  S— 

Court  is  not  big  enough  for  all  of  us." 


VIII 

MY  third  honeymoon  lasted  just  two  weeks.  I  must 
say  that  George  looked  rather  uncomfortable  (a 
promising  sign)  as  he  told  me  that  we  were 
expected  home  for  the  house  party  that  invariably 
ushered  in  the  shooting  season.  Of  course  the 
truth  of  the  matter  was  that  he  considered  two  weeks 
in  Paris  a  veritable  orgy  of  extravagance;  he  was 
fearfully  stingy  when  I  married  him,  a  legacy  from 
his  mother.  But  I  must  say  that  George  did 
improve  wonderfully  under  my  treatment.  At 
first,  even  on  the  honeymoon,  one  literally  had 
to  exact  the  where-with-all-to-buy-things  from  him 
forcibly ;  after  a  few  years  he  would  write  cheques 
comparatively  calmly. 

Our  arrival  home  was  an  excuse  for  a  village 
bean  feast.  At  the  station  a  deputation  of  local 
lights  met  us ;  words  of  welcome  from  the  station- 
master — a  dear  old  man — followed;  then  a 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  195 

procession  headed  by  a  brass  band — horrid  thing  1 
I  never  have  been  able  to  understand  why  village 
musicians  don't  study  music  before  they  blossom 
out  into  bands,  perhaps  they  haven't  the  time.  All 
along  the  route  were  flags,  cheering  school  children, 
and  speeches.  I  threw1  handfuls  of  coppers, 
provided  for  the  occasion ;  everyone — including  the 
school  master — seemed  to  scramble  for  them ;  per- 
haps they  wanted  momentoes  of  the  great  occasion. 
At  the  lodge  gates  a  team  of  lusty  yokels  replaced 
the  horses  and  a  large  white  banner  with  "  Welcome 
to  Our  Lady  "in  red  looked  most  fetching.  The 
avenue — really  lovely  with  the  autumn  tints — was 
hung,  rather  sparsely,  with  Chinese  lanterns  (I 
don't  believe  they  were  ever  lit).  The  arrival. 
Reception  by  prominent  citizens,  more  speeches  : 
by  the  Vicar,  the  Agent,  and  several  other  people. 
And  then  the  great  door  opened,  and  there  was 
George's  mother  with  a  set  smile;  behind  her  the 
butler;  and  a  crowd  of  awe-struck  retainers  lined 
the  walls — I  suppose  they  were  rather  anxious  to 
see  what  their  new  mistress  looked  like,  and  feared 
the  worst,  poor  dears.  All  most  impressive  and, 
entre  nous,  rather  amusing;  all  but  George's 
mother. 

And  I  had  told  George  to  get  rid  of  his 
mother. 

The  trouble  was  that  George  was  simply  terrified 
of  his  mother,  anyone  could  see  that.  Now  I  hate 
to  see  human  beings  terrified  of  other  human 
beings;  it  isn't  human.  And  to  see  a  great  over- 
grown creature  like  George  positively  shivering 


196  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

before  a  wretched  little  wizened  old  thing  like  his 
mother  annoyed  me  excessively.  Besides,  he 
hadn't  written  to  her  as  I  told  him.  From  the  first 
moment  that  we  pecked  each  other's  cheeks  on  the 
doorstep  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  stand  no  non- 
sense from  her.  "  Twice  bitten,  thrice  deter- 
mined," was  my  motto,  invented  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment  that  I  smiled  sweetly  at  her  grim  old  face. 
It  was  war  to  the  knife;  we  both  knew  it;  and  I 
knew  who  was  going  to  win.  t 

George's  mother  was  quite  the  hostess,  showed 
me  to  my  rooms — bedroom  and  boudoir  adjoining; 
presented  a  gawky,  red-faced  farm  girl  as  my  maid ; 
and  suggested  that  I  had  better  have  some  dinner 
sent  up  as  I  looked  tired. 

"  Thanks,"  I  said  sweetly.  "  I  am  never  tired." 
'  But,  my  dear  child,  you  look  so  delicate.  You 
really  must  take  care  of  yourself,  if  only  for 
George's  sake." 

"I'm  as  strong  as  a  horse,"  I  replied,  still 
smiling. 

"  Then  you  will  come  down  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Well  you  haven't  much  time,  my  dear;  dinner 
is  at  seven-thirty  sharp,  and  Smithers  (the  cook  as 
I  found  out  later)  hates  to  be  kept  waiting." 

I  looked  at  my  watch — a  little  beauty  that  Roger 
had  given  me  years  ago. 

"  What  a  dear  little  watch  I  I  suppose  dear 
George  bought  that  for  you  in  Paris.  French 
watches  are  so  nice  and  reliable,  I  think." 

"  Yes;  isn't  it  jolly,"  I  said,  holding  it  up  for 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  197 

her  to  see.  "  It  cost  (I  hate  pricing  things,  but 
she  was  such  an  old  beast)  fifty  guineas!  " 

44  Good  gracious!  " — I  waited  patiently — "  How 
extravagant  of  George.  No,  my  dear  child ;  please 
do  not  misunderstand  me.  I  am  not  casting  any 
aspersion  upon  you,  but  George;  really  George 
should  have  known  better." 

41  But  I  think  it's  lovely  to  be  able  to  give 
beautiful  presents  to  people  one  loves,  don't  you  ?  " 
I  can  look  so  innocent  when  I  want  to. 

44  Well;  yes;  I  suppose  so.  I,  unfortunately, 
have  never  been  in  the  position  to  give  such 
expensive  presents." 

44  Not  even  to  your  husband?  " 

44  Not  even  to  my  husband." 

44  Not  even  to  poor  George?  " 

44  Not  even  to  my  dear  son  George." 

44  And  hasn't  George  ever  given  you  any  really 
expensive  presents?  " 

44  My  child,  you  will  soon  realise  that  George  is 
not  by  any  means  a  wealthy  man.  That  fifty 
guineas — fifty  wasn't  it  you  said? — would  have 
repaired  two  or  three  of  our  tenants'  roofs  that 
are  sadly  in  need  of  renewal." 

44  Are  they?  "  said  I.  4<  I  will  soon  see  to  that; 
and  they  shall  have  really  nice  roofs,  poor  things." 

George's  mother  sniffed — several  times.  Then  a 
gong  rang  somewhere. 

44  My  dear  child,  do  you  know  it  is  now  five 
minutes  to  seven,  and  Smithers  is  so  upset  when 
people  are  late.  Are  you  quite  sure  you  have 
everything?  " 


198  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

I  nodded ;  and  she  moved  to  the  door. 

"  I  shall  be  down  at  eight  o'clock,"  said  I.  "I 
always  take  an  hour  to  dress.  And  please  keep 
something  hot.  And  if  you  think  Smithers  will 
be  angry,  I  will  just  run  down  and  see  her." 

"  My  dear  child  I  " 

"  And,  dear  mama,  it  wasn't  George  that  gave 
me  the  fifty  guinea  watch.  It  was  poor  dear  Roger, 
my  second  husband  you  know ;  such  a  dear, 
generous  boy." 


IX 

S COURT  was  one  of  those  horribly  uncomfort- 
able old  places  that  stand  as  landmarks  to  our 
illustrious  and  hardy  ancestors.  One  can  quite 
understand  poor  people  envying  the  occupants  of 
such  imposing-looking  edifices,  but  there  really 
isn't  anything  to  envy,  for  all  the  palatial  part  of 
them  is  outside.  I  sometimes  think  that  if  the 
King  were  to  let  one  of  his  palaces  to  the  Labour 
Party  on  condition  that  they  brought  all  their 
families  and  lived  there  for  one  winter  there  would 
be  less  envying  of  the  lot  of  kings  and  less  miscon- 
ception about  the  comfort  of  palaces. 

S —   -  Court  was  one  of  the  "  stately  homes  of 
England  ";    in    its    young   days    it    had    been    a 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  199 

monastery.  I  won't  describe  it  in  detail,  for  they, 
are  always  the  same;  besides  most  of  them  are 
being  turned  into  Hotels  now — not  that  I  would 
ever  stay  in  one  of  them.  It  had  been  built  in 
sixteen  something — I  never  can  remember  dates — 
had  been  several  times  partially  destroyed  by  fire, 
and  on  an  equal  number  (more  or  less)  of  occasions 
partially  repaired.  There  were  five  wings  built 
round  two  courtyards,  a  great  central  hall  with  one 
huge  open  fireplace — always  icy  cold,  diamond 
paned  windows — always  dark,  and  an  organ  loft 
— used  to  store  rubbish.  The  drawing-room  was 
so  cold  that  it  could  only  be  used  in  summer, 
the  dining-room  ditto  and  reserved  for  dinner 
parties,  so  we  really  lived  in  three  morning-rooms. 
There  was  also  a  billiard-room,  forty  bedrooms, 
and  one  bath-room  with  a  horrible  stone  tank — 
never  used.  The  servants'  quarters  were  similarly 
huge  and  uncomfortable.  About  twenty  yards  to 
one  side  was  the  church,  of  which  George  was 
patron,  and  behind  that  the  graveyard — most 
insanitary  I  thought.  In  front  of  the  house,  which 
was  a  most  imposing  pile,  was  a  deer  park — quite 
the  nicest  part  of  it  all. 

Naturally  the  house  was  haunted ;  such  places 

always   are.     There   were   three   ghosts   at   S 

Court.  Number  one  was  the  Green  Man,  who 
walked  down  the  staircase  at  midnight  whenever 
a  Sir  Something  L —  -  was  about  to  die.  Number 
two  was  the  Weeping  Lady,  dressed  all  in  black 
and  very  beautiful,  who  appeared  on  the  other 
staircase — also  at  midnight — when  the  Lady  Some- 


200  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

thing  L ,  then  existing,  was  getting  ready  to 

expire.  Number  three  was  the  Wicked  Sir  Lionel 

L who  stamped  about — at  midnight — in  top 

boots  and  slashed  furiously  on  the  door  of  the 
haunted  room  with  a  hunting  crop ;  he  had  beaten 
his  wife  to  death,  so  the  story  went ;  horrid  wretch  ! 

George  was  rather  proud  of  his  ghosts,  just  as 
he  was  proud  of  everything  else  that  he  thought 
belonged  to  him — including  myself.  Poor  fellow  1 
he  couldn't  really  help  it,  for  pride  was  one  of 
the  chief  assets  of  the  family  as  it  had  been  the 
greater  part  of  his  education.  For  years  he  did  his 
level  best  to  instil  some  of  his  pride  into  me,  and 
I  did  try  hard  to  absorb  some  pf  the  spirit  of 
Tradition — rjust  to  please  George;  but  somehow  I 
have  always  preferred  people  (young  men  mostly) 
to  ancient  ruins.  Then  again  I  am  not  fond  of 
musty,  gloomy,  old  things.  I  never  have  been 
able  to  venerate  an  old  frock,  like  some  old- 
fashioned  women  do.  I  like  new  things,  young 
things,  things  that  are  bright  and  warm  and  cheer- 
ful, things  that  are  really  alive.  I  love  Life 
and  people  and  the  world,  which  is  God's  garden 
I  think.  As  for  the  old  moss  covered,  moth 
infested,  wormy  things  they  always  seem  to  me 
to  be  dead  and  sadly  in  need  of  burial.  Perhaps 
when  I  am  old — properly  old — I  shall  feel  differ- 
ently on  this  point ;  somehow  I  doubt  it. 

Now  I  don't  like  ghosts,  not. that  I  am  afraid 
of  them,  for  I  have  never  seen  one — although  I 
am  so  psychic  and  very  interested  in  Spiritualism. 
For  that  matter  I  have  never  even  seen  a  spirit, 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  201 

that  is  an  embodied  spirit ;  and  I  very  much  doubt 
whether  we  ever  shall  see  them  with  our  eyes.  I 
don't  think  spirits  were  meant  to  be  seen;  and 
why  on  earth  should  they  bother  about  us  poor 
creatures  down  here  when  there  must  be  hundreds 
and  thousands  of  other  interesting  spirits  to  talk 
to  up  there?  I  am  quite  sure  that  when  I  am  a 
spirit  I  shan't  trouble  about  this  old  world. 

George  swore  that  the  haunted  room  was 
haunted ;  that  his  great  aunt  had  been  terrified 
almost  into  hysterics  there;  and  he  made  a  great 
deal  of  fuss  about  reopening  it.  However  he  gave 
in  eventually.  I  wanted  to  have  some  fun  with 
that  room,  so  I  furnished  it  very  nicely,  invited 
my  sister  Gwen  to  stay  for  a  week,  and  dared  her 
to  sleep  in  the  room. 

Gwen  always  liked  to  pose  as  a  very  courageous 
woman,  quite  the  soldier's  daughter,  so  of  course 
she  wouldn't  have  any  other  room.  For  several 
nights  everything  went  off  all  right;  and  Gwen 
was  in  danger  of  becoming  a  great  heroine.  Then 
early  one  morning  she  dashed  into  my  room,  hair 
flying,  and  in  her  nighty.  She  looked  horribly 
frightened. 

"  He's  come,"  she  panted. 

"  Who?  "  I  asked,  as  I  made  room  for  her 
beside  me. 

"  That  old  monster,  Sir  Lionel." 

"  Gwen!  " 

"  Well  someone  came  and  tramped  along  the 
corridor  in  top  boots  and  slashed  furiously  three 
times  on  the  door,  with  a  hunting  crop." 


202  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

41  Gwen  !  " 

"  It  is  true,"  she  shivered. 

"  Did  you  see  him?  " 

"  I  didn't  see  him,  exactly,  but  I  felt  him." 

11  How  felt  him?  " 

1  Well,  it  was  all  cold  and  clammy  and  there 
was  a  horrid  musty  smell  in  the  corridor." 

1  There  always  is,"  I  said.  Then  I  made  a 
sudden  determination  :  "  Gwen,  I'll  sleep  there 
to-morrow  night." 

"  Oh  I  don't,  my  dear,  it's  awful  1  " 

1  And  you  sleep  here.  Not  a  word  to  anyone, 
mind." 


X 


THE  next  night  after  everyone  was  in  bed  I  and 
Gwen  changed  rooms.  I  was  awfully  keen  to 
find  out  about  the  ghost,  and  besides  I  had  some- 
thing up  my  sleeve. 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  mention  here  that  George 
had  not  done  what  I  suggested  in  the  way  of 
sleeping  arrangements;  he  was  too  frightened  of 
his  mother.  While  my  rooms  were  at  the  end  of 
one  wing,  his  were  at  the  end  of  another;  the 
haunted  room  was  the  corner  of  the  two.  Anyone 
wanting  to  come  from  his  wing  to  mine  would 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD    .          203 

have  to  pass  the  door  of  the  haunted  room.  No 
one,  to  my  knowledge,  had  ever  wanted  to. 

As  I  didn't  want  to  wake  people  up — George's 
mother  had  her  rooms  next  to  mine — I  took  off 
my  shoes  and  tiptoed  along  in  bare  feet. 

Everything  was  very  comfortable  in  the  haunted 
room  and  I  bolted  the  door  and  got  into  bed — not 
to  sleep  for  I  wanted  to  be  on  the  qui  vivt 
and  not  muzzy  with  sleep.  I  forgot. to  mention 
that  I  had  brought  my  revolver  with  me — one  thai 
poor  dear  Edward  had  given  me. 

Now  an  old  house  is  never  quiet.  Old  chairs 
and  old  tables  and>  old  wardrobes  all  creak;  old 
boards  groan  and  rattle;  rats  and  mice  scamper 
about;  creepers  tap  on  the  window  panes;  and 
some  wind  or  other  always  seems  to  whistle 
somewhere. 

For  a  long  time  I  lay  and  listened  to 
these  sounds,  and  I  must  say  it  was  as  much  as 
I  could  do  to  keep  awake.  And  then  I  did  hear 
something.  It  sounded  like  something  rattling 
— "  Chains!  "  came  into  my  mind.  I  clutched 
my  revolver.  Then  came  a  bang — followed  by 
more  rattling.  Then  quite  distinctly  I  heard  foot- 
steps, heavy  footsteps,  coming  down  the  corridor 
— top  boots! 

If  I  hadn't  been  brave  I  am  sure  that  I  should 
have  shrieked — after  all  that  George  had  told  me, 
and  Gwen's  recent  experiences.  But  I  didn't. 
On  the  contrary  I  crept  out  of  bed,  put  on  my 
dressing-gown  and  went  to  the  door.  Along  came 
the  tramp,  tramp,  tramp — just  like  a  man  in  top 


204  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

boots.  Then  a  crack !  crack  I  crack ! — just  like  a 
hunting  crop — came  from  outside  the  door.  I 
cocked  the  revolver  and  peeped  through  the  key- 
hole. I  could  see  nothing — it  was  only  after- 
wards that  I  discovered  that  the  key  was  in  the 
lock,  outside.  The  tramping  died  away  in  the 
distance. 

Now  was  my  time  I  I  opened  the  door — very 
quietly.  Nothing!  I  tiptoed  down  the  corridor; 
all  was  inky  blackness.  I  passed  George's 
mother's  room  and  to  my  surprise  a  light  was 
shining  under  the  door — old  doors  in  old  houses 
seldom  fit  properly.  I  had  half  a  notion  to  tell 
her  about  the  ghost,  but  I  thought  better  of  it; 
she  would  certainly  be  frightened  and  would 
probably  make  a  scene.  Ghosts  don't  like  scenes. 
So  I  crept  on.  Not  a  sound !  But  something 
told  me  that  someone  was  there.  I  couldn't  see 
anyone,  naturally,  and  yet  I  felt  sure  that  there 
was  something — at  the  end  of  the  corridor — and 
close  to  the  door  of  my  bedroom.  I  wondered  if 
Gwen  had  heard  anything. 

On  I  crept.  Then  suddenly  a  sound — a  sort  of 
scratching  noise.  My  revolver  very  nearly  went 
off.  The  door,  my  door,  flew  open.  And  there 
was  Gwen,  poker  in  one  hand  and  lamp  in  the 
other.  And — oh  !  horror  !  George  in  his  dress- 
ing gown  .  .  .  and  carpet  slippers — kissing  .  .  . 
one  of  my  shoes.  I  suppose  I  must  have  left  them 
in  the  corridor. 

I  must  say  that  George  looked  far  less  of  a  fool 
than  most  men  would  have  done  under  similar 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  205 

circumstances,  and  retired  almost  unruffled  to  his 
own  wing.  He  looked  rather  pathetic  when  1 
explained  things  to  him  next 


XI 

AFTER  the  haunted  room  episode  George  took  quite 
a  dislike  to  Gwen — rather  silly  of  him  considering 
it  was  his  own  fault.  However  she  had  only  come 
for  a  week,  and  was  expected  home,  so  that  was  all 
right.  George  tried  to  take  advantage  of  the 
occurrence  by  reopening  the  sleeping  arrangement 
controversy,  but,  as  I  pointed  out,  nothing  could 
be  done  while  his  mother  was  in  the  house — and 
to  make  matters  worse  next  door  to  me.  George 
didn't  say  much,  but  I  could  see  that  he  was  think- 
ing a  lot — he  always  looked  supernaturally  solemn 
when  he  exercised  his  brains.  Then  the  house 
party  arrived,  thirty  strong  and  mostly  men ;  and  I 
really  hadn't  time  to  waste  on  George  or  his  con- 
science. One  thing  about  George  was  that  he 
wasn't  in  the  least  jealous.  Stodgy  people  seldom 
are. 

The  one  salvation  to  life  in  a  big  country  house 
is  the  house  party.  If  one  lives  in  a  sort  of  cross 
between  a  monastery  and  an  hotel  one  must  have 
company,  crowds  of  company.  It  takes  a  very 


206  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

good  monk  to  live  on  a  hill  top  all  by  himself,  and 
a  really  first  class  philosopher  to  live  all  alone  in  a 
tub.  Being  a  woman,  I  am  neither.  I  believe  that 
George  would  have  been  quite  satisfied  to  live  in 
solitary  glory  with  the  servants,  his  mother,  and 
myself  to  look  after  him.  Men  are  such  simple 
creatures,  and  I  honestly  believe  if  left  to  them- 
selves they  would  all  go  "  back  to  the  land." 
Give  the  average  man  plenty  of  food,  a  gun,  and 
things  to  shoot  and  he  is  as  happy  as  the  shooting 
season  lasts.  Women,  however  Amazonian,  soon 
get  tired  of  killing  things.  They  were  born 
creators  not  killers,  and  I  don't  believe  that  any 
woman  really  likes  to  kill  for  killing's  sake;  she 
may — probably  does — persuade  men  to  kill  things 
for  her  sake.  Thinking  things  over,  I  must  say 
that  there  is  far  too  much  killing  in  the  world  to 
please  me.  I  can't  see  why  we  human  creatures 
are  so  fond  of  killing.  Somehow  I  can't  believe 
that  killing  was  part  of  God's  Great  Plan  for  us. 
It  may  be  right  for  people  like  clergymen  to  talk 
about  blood  and  sacrifice,  but  certainly  none  of 
our  really  great  men,  our  poets,  and  philosophers, 
or  our  Christ  ever  preached  that  sort  of  thing. 
When  one  has  produced  a  son  and  had  him 
butchered  "by  other  women's  sons,  somehow  one 
doesn't  hate  the  other  women  or  their  sons,  but 
the  system  that  made  this  slaughter  possible.  I 
know  that  heaps  of  people  say  that  it  is  patriotic 
to  have  one's  son  killed.  I  used  to  feel  that  way 
myself  before  I  had  sons  old  enough  to  be  killed; 
tradition  I  suppose.  But  I  don't  believe  that  there 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  207 

is  one  mother  in  all  the  world  who  has  lost  a  son, 
killed,  who  isn't  disgusted  with  this  wholesale 
butchery  under  the  name  of  Patriotism.  The  very 
word  is  nauseating  to  me  now !  And,  mark  well 
what  I  say,  sisters,  it  is  us,  the  women  of 
the  world,  the  mothers  of  the  world,  who  alone 
can  stop  this  horrid  thing.  Leagues  of  Nations 
won't  do  it,  statesmen,  politicians,  Governments 
won't  do  it.  Women  will.  And  I  can  see — I  am 
awfully  psychic  as  I  said — the  time  coming  when 
women  will  make  laws  for  men  to  administer.  For 
while  we  are  makers — essentially,  we  must  admit 
that  we  can't  administrate. 

A  woman,  every  woman  who  is  educated,  can 
mould  some  man  to  her  desire.  A  married  woman 
can  make  her  husband  anything  that  she  wants. 
A  mother  can  make  her  sons  to  her  own  pattern. 
A  sister  can  influence  a  brother  to  her  purpose.  If 
we  want  good  men,  honest  men,  splendid  men,  we 
must  show  our  men  that  that  is  what  we  want, 
what  we  expect,  and  what  we  will  have  from  them. 
We,  as  women,  hold  the  key  to  our  menfolk;  in 
our  hands  we  hold  the  tuning-fork  of  Humanity : 
the  heart.  We  may  not  be  able  to  control  the 
minds  of  our  men,  but  we  can  and  must  attune 
their  hearts  to  Harmony.  And  Harmony  is  such 
a  simple  thing,  simple  as  all  eternal  things  are : 
merely  Love  and  Duty. 

When  I  married  him,  George  was  a  perfect 
monster  for  killing.  It  was  his  hobby.  Day  after 
day,  from  morning  to  night  he  would  go  out  to 
destroy.  It  was  not  the  killing — I  have  killed 


208  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

things  myself,  and  I  am  considered  rather  a  good 
shot — but  the  orgy  of  killing  that  disgusted  me. 
I  know  a  lot  of  men,  keen  sportsmen  before  the 
war,  who  have  come  back  alter  four  or  five  years  of 
battle  and  murder  and  sudden  death  and  who  have 
told  me — very  confidentially — that  they  will  never 
kill  another  thing  as  long  as  they  live.  I  can  quite 
understand  and  admire  their  point  of  view.  I 
changed  George  long  before  the  war.  It  was  hard 
work.  But  work  will  tell.  Instead  of  compliment- 
ing him  on  his  bag  of  birds,  I  would  turn  up  my 
nose — it  turns  up  quite  a  lot  naturally,  and  refuse 
to  eat  them.  After  a  time  he  put  down  less  game 
—prices  helped  a  lot — and  so  there  was  less  to  kill. 
Before  he  died  he  had  given  up  breeding  altogether. 

When  he  wasn't  shooting  things,  George  spent 
his  time  chasing  them.  I  used  to  hunt  quite  a  lot 
— I  look  rather  nice  in  the  saddle  (side,  of  course; 
women  riding  astride  look  so  horribly  masculine  1). 
In  those  days,  I  didn't  think,  I  just  looked  pretty 
and  did  what  suited  me.  I  must  say  that  I  don't 
know  anything  more  delightful  than  a  good  gallop 
across  country.  It  was  being  "  blooded  "  that 
cured  me.  Everything  was  such  fun,  the  men  in 
their  scarlet  coats,  the  horses,  the  hounds,  the 
fences :  all  but  the  fox. 

We  English  are  supposed  to  be  sportsmen,  but 
are  we?  We  condemn  cock-fighting  (I  have  seen 
some  lovely  cock-fighting  in  Spain,  and  how  the 
cocks  love  it!)  because  we  say  it  isn't  sport.  We 
hold  up  our  hands  in  horror  at  the  mere  mention  of 
bull  fights.  And  yet  we  chase  and  kill  foxes  and 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  209 

hares  and  deer,  and  call  it  Sport.  To  me  "  sport  " 
means  equal  chances  for  all  concerned,  and  equal 
risks.  In  a  cock  fight,  both  cocks  are  equal.  In  a 
bull  fight,  bulls  or  men  may  be  killed.  Indeed,  a 
famous  matador  once  told  me  that  almost  every 
bull  fighter  is  eventually  killed.  "  But  the  poor 
horses?  "  I  said.  "  Senora,  no  man  living,  not 
even  I,  is  brave  enough  to  fight  a  bull  unless  he 
is  a  little  tired.  So  we  have  horses,  old  horses, 
who  are  ready  to  die." 

I  heard  afterwards  that  the  poor  fellow — and  he 
was  so  handsome  in  his  matador's  dress ! — was 
gored  to  death  in  a  great  corrida  in  Madrid. 
So  perhaps  he  was  right  about  the  bull  and  man 
being  equal.  But  the  horses ! — no  there  is  no  sport 
for  them  in  bull  fighting. 

Now  bpxing  is  sport — I  always  go  to  the  National 
Sporting  Club  on  Ladies'  Night ;  so  is  football ;  and 
cricket ;  and  racing — I  love  racing.  But  fox  hunt- 
ing and  deer  chasing  is  a  relic  of  barbarism — quite 
as  bad  as  bull  fighting — which  we  women  must  put 
out  of  court  for  our  men.  George  gave  up  hunting 
—all  but  two  days  a  week — to  please  me,  and 
bought  what  he  had  vowed  he  never  would  buy,  a 
motor  car. 

George  was  a  convert  worthy  of  any  woman's 
mettle ;  he  fought  so  hard  against  being  converted. 


2io  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


XII 

GEORGE  had  a  great  sense  of  Duty — mostly  to  him- 
self. It  caused  most  of  the  friction  between  us. 
Duty  is  the  essence  of  life,  everyone  knows  that. 
Unfortunately  so  many  of  us  imagine  that  it  means 
our  neighbour's  duty  to  us — it  is  a  weakness  of  my 
own,  so  I  know.  George's  sense  of  duty  was  con- 
ceived- in  Tradition  and  fostered  by  Education. 
Tradition  told  George  that  he  was  a  born  ruler  of 
men,  and  Education  had  fitted  him  to  rule.  He  had 
an  idea  that  the  same  thing  applied  to  women — and 
to  me.  He  was  wrong. 

Now  Tradition  and  Education  had  hoped  to  make 
me  believe  that  women  were  born  to  obedience. 
Luckily  for  me  something  inside  me  said:  "  stuff 
and  nonsense."  I  always  obeyed  my  husbands  in 
really  big  things;  but  it  is  the  little  things  that 
make  life. 

George  considered  that  it  was  his  Duty  to  give 
his  mother  a  home. 

"  You  see,  my  dear,"  (I  had  broken  him  of 
calling  me  "  Jewel  ")  he  said,  when  I  took  him  to 
task  on  the  subject — she  really  was  too  awful  the 
way  she  tried  to  run  everything — "  the  old  lady 
has  lived  here  so  long  that  she  has  got  to — er — 
consider  this  her  home." 

"  I  quite  believe  you,"  I  said. 


GEORGE-^MY    THIRD  an 

"  1  don't  think  it  would  be  right  to  turn  her  out 
into  the  street." 

"  Why  not  let  her  have  that  house  in  Ireland, 
or  the  cottage  in  Cornwall?  "  I  suggested. 

"  Well — er — the  trouble  is  that  she — er — 

"  That  you  are  terrified  of  her,  George." 

"  I'm  not!  " 

"  What  are  you  then  ?  " 

"  I'm — er — sorry  for  her,"  said  George. 

"  And  what  about  poor  little  me?  " 

"  I  can't  see  what  you've  got  to  grumble  at. 
She  takes  a  great  deal  of  the  work  off  your  hands." 

"All,  George." 

"  Well?  " 

"  And  I  love  work.     I  must  work  or  I'll  burst." 

"  I  thought  you  and  the  old  lady  were  getting  on 
rather  nicely,"  sighed  George. 

"  Appearances  often  belie  facts,"  I  said. 

"  Don't  you  like  her?  She's  not  half  a  bad  old 
sort,  I  think." 

"  I  should  love  her — in  Ireland,  or  Cornwall." 

"  Oh  I  you  women  I  You're  the  cause  of  all  the 
worry  in  the  world.  What  the  deuce  does  it  matter 
who  does  the  housekeeping ?  " 

"  And  manages  the  servants,  and  orders  the 
carriage,  and  pours  out  tea,  and  sits  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  and  invites  people  to  dinner,  and " 

"  Great  Scot!  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  those 
silly  trifles  upset  you  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least!  But  they  will  upset  your 
mother — most  dreadfully — when  I  do  them.  And 
I'm  going  to  begin  at  once." 


212  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"  Oh  Lord!  "  groaned  George..  He  must  have 
known  quite  a  lot  about  his  mother. 

"  So  to  save  a  fuss,  George  dear,  I  think  you  had 
better  tell  her — this  afternoon." 

"  Can't,"  said  George.     "I'm  going— 

"  I  should  put  it  off  if  I  were  you,"  I  said  very 
quietly.  "  She's  your  mother." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do — now?  "  asked 
George  in  an  anxious  voice. 

11  Wait  and  see,"  said  I  (this  was  long  before 
Mr  A declaimed  his  war  policy). 

I  really  had  come  to  the  end  of  my  patience. 
One  was  never  meant  to  be  a  nonentity  in  one's 
own  home.  Of  course  it  was  George's  business 
to  manage  his  own  mother;  but  he  couldn't,  or 
wouldn't.  In  many  ways  George  was  an  awful 
coward  morally.  He  was  always  nice  to  people, 
because  it  was  easier  to  be  nice.  Yes  came  far 
more  readily  to  his  tongue  than  no.  As  for 
opinions  of  his  own,  he  had  none.  I  honestly 
believe  that  the  first  time  that  he  ever  used  his  own 
brain  was  when  he  proposed  to  me — and  then  I 
had  to  help  him.  He  was  a  typical  Englishman 
of  the  old  school,  Conservative  born,  Church  of 
England  christened,  and  reared  in  Tradition.  And 
any  man  who  is  these  things  to-day  has  never  used 
his  brains.  He  always  did  things  because  they 
were  the  right  thing  to  do,  not  because  they  seemed 
right  to  him.  He  knelt  down  by  his  bedside  to 
say  his  prayers,  night  and  morning — I  found  that 
out  afterwards — because  he  had  been  taught  to  do 
so.  He  went  to  church  on  Sundays,  because  it  was 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  213 

his  duty.  He  shot,  rode,  gave  money — a  little — to 
Charity,  made  a  speech  at  Christmas  in  the 
servants'  hall,  sang  one  song  at  the  annual  village 
smoking  concert — always  the  same,  danced  one 
dance  with  the  vicar's  wife  at  the  annual  village 
dance,  rode  round  the  estate  once  a  month  with 
the  agent,  smoked,  drank,  played  billiards,  read, 
ate,  and  slept,  all  because  his  father  and  grand- 
father had  done  the  same  thing  before  him. 
"  Manners  maketh  man,"  was  his  stock  phrase. 
He  was  an  old  Etonian. 

"  What  about  Doctor  Johnson?  "  I  asked  him 
once. 

"  An  awful  bounder,  my  dear." 

"  Don't  you  admire  brains?  " 

"  Depends  upon  the  feller  who  owns  them." 

Such  was  George  when  I  took  him  in  hand. 

For  several  nights  I  racked  my  brains  over  the 
problem  of  how  to  get  George's  mother  over  to 
Ireland.  She  it  was  who  did  all  George's  thinking, 
and  I  knew  that  so  long  as  she  lived  with  us  there 
would  be  no  improvement  in  George.  If  I  hadn't 
seen  possibilities  in  George  I  never  would  have 
married  him.  I  had  taken  him  for  better  or  for 
worse,  and  it  was  going  to  be  for  better  if  I  could 
manage  it.  Under  existing  conditions  things  must 
have  gone  from  bad  to  the  worst  worst.  Every 
day  I  and  George  were  getting  farther  apart.  I 
lived  in  his  house,  ate  at  his  table,  rode  his  horses, 
drove  in  his  dog-c^rt,  and  wore  his  wedding  ring- 
over  my  other  two  (three  wedding  rings  look 
awfully  imposing).  Otherwise  we  might  have  been 


214  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

strangers.  We  seldom  spoke  to  each  other  for 
more  than  a  minute,  and  hardly  ever  alone.  We 
had  acquired  the  "  pecking  "  habit  of  salutation- 
fatal  to  wedded  bliss.  Altogether  we  were  on  the 
high  road  to  ruin,  and  George's  mother  was 
responsible.  She  must  go;  or — another  contin- 
gency— I  would  go. 

George's  mother  was  one  of  the  most  obstinate 
old  women  I  have  ever  met,  far  worse  than  George, 
or  myself.  If  ever  I  asked  her  something  directly, 
she  would  reply  :  "  My  dear  child,  I  will  see  if 
it  can  be  managed.  It  is  rather  unusual  you 
know."  And  it  never  could  be  managed.  I 
remember  having  to  telephone  for  a  cab  from  the 
livery  stables  one  Sunday  afternoon  because:  "  my 
dear  child,  we  never  expect  the  men  to  go  out  on 
the  Sabbath." 

'"  The  dog-cart  will  do,"  said  I. 

"  My  dear  child,  we  never  ask  the  men  to  work 
on  the  Sabbath." 

'  I  can  harness  up;  and  Jim  Crow  is  quite  quiet 
with  me." 

1  My  dear  child,  our  horses  never  go  out  on  the 
Sabbath." 

I  might  have  been  an  eighteen  year  old  girl, 
certainly  not  a  thrice-married  woman  with  four 
children. 

No ;  there  was  no  way  out  of  it.  George's 
mother  must  go. 

Unfortunately  George's  mother  had  no  intention 
of  going. 

At  first  I  tried  open  diplomacy.     One  night   I 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  215 

went  into  her  room,  explained  matters,  even  cried 
a  little ;  all  to  no  purpose.  She  thought  that  I  was 
weak,  and  immediately  became  more  overbearing. 

"  Ridiculous,  my  dear  child;  who  would  manage 
the  servants  and  look  after  George  if  /  went  to 
Ireland — horrid  damp  place!  " 

"  /  would,"  I  said,  "  and  West."  West  was 
George's  valet. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  far  too  delicate,  and  " 
— smiling  grimly  like  a  steel  trap — "  presently  you 
will  have  other  duties  to  demand  your  attention." 

"  Such  as?  " 

1  Your  Duty  to  your  husband.  George,  dear 
boy,  has  confided  his  hopes  to  me.  My  dear  child, 
surely  you  must  realise  that  George  must  have  a 
son  and  heir?  " 

I  looked  shocked,  and  blushed  a  little. 

"It  is  your  Duty  to  my  son,"  she  repeated 
sternly. 

Horrid  old  thing !  with  her  duty,  duty,  duty.  As 
if  one  were  a  machine.  Then  the  thought  came.  I 
clapped  my  hands. 

"  A  bargain,  mama!  If  you  go  to  Ireland, 
George  has  his  son." 

She  looked  shocked;  but  was  too  old  to  blush. 

"  Otherwise  I  go." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  losing  your  reason; 
where  will  you  go?  " 

"  To  the  Devil,"  said  I. 


216  MY    THREE     HUSBANDS 


XIII 

I  WENT.  George,  from  sheer  terror  of  what  I 
was  going  to  do  to  his  name,  went  too.  We  were 
away  for  a  whole  year ;  and  what  a  year  !  Really, 
I  enjoyed  myself  hugely.  We  opened  George's 
London  house  for  the  season  and  I  filled  it  with 
my  servants  and  my  friends.  I  carted  him  off  to 
the  Riviera,  to  Monte  Carlo,  everywhere  that  it 
was  fashionable  to  go.  I  flirted  outrageously, 
gambled  horribly,  lost  pots  of  money  at  the  races, 
ran  up  huge  bills  for -clothes  and  hats  and  trinkets 
— all  of  which  I  put  down  to  George,  bought  a 
really  expensive  motor,  and  altogether  behaved 
abomin — a  la  mode.  As  for  George,  I  led 
him  about  on  a  dog  chain,  he  and  his  cheque  book. 
People  began  to  pity  George.  So  did  I  really, 
poor  fellow.  But  mules  must  be  driven.  For  a 
whole  year  he  was  my  banker,  and  that  was  all. 
Whenever  he  tried  to  make  love  to  me  or  kiss  me 
— and  I  used  ei-ery  art  of  which  I  was  capable  to 
make  him  try — I  would  tell  him  to  go  and  make 
love  to  his  mother.  Sometimes  he  would  look  so 
abjectly  miserable  and  implore  me  so  pitifully  to 
come  back  home  with  him,  that  a  fluttering  would 
come  to  my  heart-strings.  But  one  thought  of 
his  mother, 'and  my  brain  would  .harden  into 
iron. 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  217 

George  was  utterly  and  absolutely  miserable. 
By  nature  and  circumstances  a  lazy  man,  I  ran 
him  almost  to  death.  Several  times  during  the 
year  he  tried  to  use  his  authority :  rather  hopeless. 
Several  times  he  made  frantic  efforts  to  break  his 
chain ;  and  I  would  do  something  rather  more  out- 
rageous than  usual.  Time  and  again  he  threatened 
to  leave  me ;  I  countered  with  threats  of — oh  I  any- 
thing that  happened  to  come  handy  to  my  tongue. 
A  slave  to  the  tradition  of  a  name,  he  would  have 
gone  through  tire  and  waier  for  that  name;  and 
it  happened  to  be  mine  too. 

S Court,  which  was  the  proudest  of  George's 

possessions  and  cenainly  dearest  to  his  heart, 
giadually  reverted  to  a  sort  of  nunnery,  with  his 
mother  as  the  Mother  Superior*  The  shooting 
went  fut,  and  no  one  hunted,  because  there  were 
no  house  parties.  Appealing  letters  came  from  the 
Agent,  the  Vicar,  the  Bailiff,  Brooks — the  butler, 
and  Smithers — the  cook;  and  two  of  the  grooms 
and  the  head  gardener  threatened  to  leave.  They 
all  hated  George's  mother,  unadulterated  for  a  long 
time;  and  they  all  liked  me. 

George  began  to  hate  his  mother.  Not  that  he 
told  me  so,  but  he  used  to  pull  his  moustache 
terribly  when  he  read  her  letters. 

George  was  dying  to  get  home;  and,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  was  getting  rather  tired  out  myself.  One 
can't  keep  up  the  pace  indefinitely,  and  really 
and  truly  I  hate  having  to  do  things.  I  am  not 
fast  by  nature;  and  again  continuous  late  nights 
are  wicked  for  one's  looks.  However  I  knew  better 


2i8  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

than  to  slacken  speed  until  the  winning  post  was 
passed;  and  it  was  getting  very  near. 

At  the  end  of  two  furious  weeks,  George 
informed  me  one  evening — he  had  begged  for  a 
couple  of  minutes'  private  conversation — that  he 
had  written  to  his  mother. 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "  how  enthralling  1  " 

"  Not  an  ordinary  letter,"  said  George. 

"  Really?     How  interesting  I  " 

•*  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  have  done 
it,  but  I  told  her  to  go  away.'? 

"Whereto?     Poor  old  thing  1  " 

"  Well — er — knowing  your  wishes,  my  dear,  I 
— er — suggested  Ireland.  She  will  probably  decide 
to  take  the  house  in  Cornwall." 

"  Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  let  her  stay 
where  she  is,  George  dear  ?  You  see  she  has  lived 
there  so  long  now  and  has  got.  so  used  to  the 
place.  Besides  we're  having  such  fun  as  we  are." 

George  gasped,  like  a  fish  out  of  water 


XIV 

GEORGE'S  mother  did  go.  It  must  have  been 
an  awful  letter.  That  is  always  the  curious  thing 
about  a  worm,  when  it  does  turn  the  effect  is 
startling,  and  one  imagines  that  it's  going  to  bite. 
At  last  I  and  George  entered  into  that  often  written 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  219 

and  less  often  accomplished  state  of  life  called  a 
happy  marriage. 

George  by  himself  was  an  old  dear ;  I  had  known 
it  all  along,  from  that  very  first  night  in  Biarritz. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  he  would  have  been  miserable 
with  any  other  woman.  When  the  road  was 
properly  clear  we  went  home,  and  really  it  was 
lovely  the  fuss  everyone  made  about  me.  Brooks 
— the  butler  (I  have  mentioned  him  before,  I  think) 
nearly  bowed  himself  in  two  as  he  welcomed  us, 
and  Smithers,  dear  old  fat  Smithers,  had  two  large 
tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  showed  me  the  fatted  calf. 
I  am  sure  they  were  all  very  grateful  for  what  I 
had  done  for  them  (sounds  rather  like  Christian 
Science.  I  have  always  remained  a  little  faithful 
to  it). 

We  rearranged  the  house  from  top  to  toe, 
put  in  twelve  bath-rooms,  central  heating  and 
electric  light.  Also  my  boudoir  became  George's 
dressing-room;  I  never  can  see  the  necessity  of 
a  boudoir  upstairs.  Then  again  I  arranged  the 
house  parties. 

Life  in  the  country  can  be  simply  scrumptuous 
if  one  knows  how  to  arrange  it.  The  thing  is  to 
have  clever,  interesting  people  to  stay  with  one. 
George's  mother  always  chose  her  guests  for  their 
importance,  social  standing,  or  money.  I  selected 
mine  for  amusement.  For  years  and  years,  ever 
since  I  was  a  girl,  I  had  vowed  that  if  ever  I  could 
afford  it  I  would  be  a  sort  of  fairy  queen  (not  god- 
mother, far  too  old  1)  to  struggling  authors  and 
actors  and  artists,  in  fact  to  all  those  intelligent 


220  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

people  to  whom  good  food  and  fresh  air  and  nice 
surroundings  would  appeal.  Then  again,  being 
clever  myself,  I  must  have  clever  people  round  me. 
I  can  forgive  •clever  people  anything.  I  remember 
once  a  young  actor  who  tried  to  make  love  to  me 
— George  was  too  sleepy  to  see,  he  had  been  out 
hunting  all  day.  He  was  quite  a  boy,  very  bril- 
liant, and  somehow  he  reminded  me  a  little  of 
Roger.  Really  he  made  love  quite  nicely,  "  a  la 
Lewis  Waller."  He  was  horribly  surprised  when 
I  kissed  him  on  his  curls  and  told  him  not  to  be  a 
silly  boy.  But  he  took  it  very  nicely,  and  we  are 
still  great  friends.  He  is  famous  now,  married, 
and  has  two  children.  He  says  that  he  learnt  to 
be  happy  from  me.  And  we  were  happy,  George 
and  I ;  most  kind  Christians  said  :  "  too  happy  to 
last." 

In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  am  getting  rather  tired 
of  Christianity — that  is  Christianity  as  practised 
nowadays.  There  is  far  too  much  sorrow  and  tears 
and  vale  of  suffering  and  sin  about  it  to  please 
me,  and  I  have  sampled  a  good  many  Christian 
Creeds — not  quite  all,  for  there  are  four  hundred 
so  I've  been  told.  The  only  happy  Christians  I 
have  met  have  been  Christian  Scientists ;  and  some- 
how I  am  quite  sure  that  unless  Religion  makes 
people  happy  now,  then  Religion  must  be  all 
wrong.  People  were  meant  to  be  happy.  Would 
God  have  been  likely  to  make  a  beautiful  garden 
like  this  world  for  people  to  be  miserable  in  ?  If 
He  had  wanted  to  make  us  wretched,  or  to  punish 
us  for  something,  or  to  purge  us  of  something,  He 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  221 

would  have  sent  us  to  hell  or  the  moon  according 
(o  our  temperaments. 

I  have  a  Religion,  but  it  has  no  name.  The 
moment  one  gives  a  thing  a  name  one  makes  it 
small,  and  the  name  itself  separates  it  from  other 
tilings.  (Reading  it  over,  that  last  sentence 
sounds  rather  silly,  but  words  are  so  futile  to 
express  spiritual  things.)  Mine  is  a  religion  of 
happiness,  or  if  you  want  to  put  it  scientifically, 
of  Harmony.  Not  the :  "  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry  "  religion  of  Omar  Khayyam,  nor  the: 
"  Our  Father  up  in  the  clouds  "  religion  called 
Christianity.  Merely  this  : 

The  world  is  a  jolly  old  garden,  old  and 
yet  always  new,  a  beautiful  place  to  play  in 
and  a  beautiful  place  to  work  in,  and  in  it  all 
the  work  should  be  play.  It  is  inhabited  by  all 
sorts  of  jolly  people,  who  become  nicer  the  more 
one  knows  them,  and  all  of  whom  are  capable  of 
wonderful  things  and  horrid  things.  If  one  is  nice 
to  them  they  are  seldom  nasty  in  return ;  if  one  is 
nasty,  they  are  quite  likely — and  one  can't  blame 
them — to  become  nasty.  Moral:  be  nice  to  people. 
Then  there  are  all  the  animals,  always  beautiful 
and  charming  if  one  is  nice  to  them.  I  know  a 
man  who  used  to  keep  pet  tigers  in  his  house,  big 
tigers,  and  they  loved  him.  Moral:  be  nice 
to  animals.  Then  we  come  to  the  motive  force 
behind  all  these  things,  the  force  that  moves  the 
wind,  that  makes  the  flowers  grow,  the  birds  sing, 
that  moves  everything  and  us;  Life  if  you  like. 
That  is  my  God.  I  know  now  that  He  was  poor 


222  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

dear  Edward's  God,  Christ's  God,  and  Browning's, 
and  Keats',  and  Rupert  Brooke's — brave  boy ! 
And  He  is  a  wonderful  God.  Always  beautiful  and 
always  close  to  one.  And  I  have  come  to  depend 
upon  Him  so.  When  little  John  smiled — he  had  a 
beautiful  smile — it  was  God  smiling  through  him 
I  think. 

And  He  is  my  God,  mine,  mine,  my  very  own  ! 
and  yours  and  everyone  else's  who  want  Him. 
And  He  is  always  whispering  to  us  to  be  happy. 
He  it  is  that  sings  behind  the  lark.  He  it  is  that 
makes  the  village  yokel  whistle  as  he  goes  to  work. 
There  are  some  people  I  know  who  dislike 
whistling,  or  singing,  or  music  in  any  shape  or 
form.  Poor  things  !  I  always  pity  them,  for  they 
must  be  so  unhappy.  Such  people  seldom  smile; 
even  smiling  seems  to  hurt  them.  Very  often  such 
people  are  deeply  religious,  in  the  sense  that  they 
polish  up  the  church  brasses,  make  slippers  for  the 
Vicar,  in  fact  spend  most  of  their  time  in  the 
shadow  of  the  church.  Personally  I  think  shadows 
unhealthy;  I  much  prefer  the  sunshine.  One  can't 
wonder  that  these  people — and  most  of  them  I  am 
sorry  to  say  are  women,  unmarried  women — pin  all 
their  faith  in  the  Future;  but  how  they  misuse  the 
poor  Present. 

I  think  that  I  must  have  been  made  in  the  Present 
Tense.  All  my  life  I  have  lived  for  the  Present, 
and  I  must  say  that  I  have  enjoyed  it  and  myself 
tremendously.  My  God  is  a  Present  God,  and  I 
don't  have  to  wait  until  I  am  dead  to  see  Him.  I 
may  be  wrong,  heaps  of  people  tell  me  that  I  am ; 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  223 

but  no  one  has  ever  accused  me  of  being  miserable. 
Anyhow  I  am  not  afraid  of  meeting  Him  ;  one  can't 
fear  what  one  loves.  If  only  people  would  love 
God  instead  of  fearing  Him,  what  a  wonderful 
difference  there  would  be  in  the  world.  We  all 
say  :  "  Our  Father,"  though  very  few  of  us.consider 
Him  as  a  Father,  or  as  Ours.  We  all  say :  "  Thy 
will  be  done  on  earth  as  it  is  in  Heaven  " — at  all 
events  on  Sundays ;  and  we  look  most  mournful  and 
solemn  as  we  are  saying  it.  If  God's  will  be  done 
on  earth  as  it  is  in  Heaven,  and  earth  is  a  miserable 
place,  surely  Heaven  must  be  equally  miserable? 
One  can't  like  Discord  and  worship  Harmony  all 
in  the  same  breath;  it  isn't  natural  or  reasonable. 
And  I  am  sure  God  is  not  unnatural  or  unreason- 
able. My  own  belief  is  that  God  is  the  Spirit  of 
Harmony,  and  that  Harmony  is  His  Plan  for  us 
all.  We  are  here  in  the  world  to  learn  His 
Harmony,  so  that  one  day  we  may  be  proficient 
enough  to  join  His  Heavenly  Orchestra. 

To  learn  Harmony  we  must  eliminate  Discord; 
and  to  learn  anything  we  must  pay  attention  to  our 
lessons,  which  means  living  in  the  Present.  I 
think  that's  logical,  although,  being  a  woman,  I'm 
not  supposed  to  understand  Logic. 

God's  lessons  to  us  are  all  object  lessons.  He 
plants  us  in  a  beautiful  garden,  gives  us  everything 
necessary  to  us  and  says:  "  This  is  all  Beautiful, 
and  being  Beautiful  it  is  all  Good.  I  am  Good 
because  I  made  all  this  Beauty.  I  am  with  you 
always,  everywhere.  I  am  Harmony.  I  am 
Happiness.  You  can't  see  Me,  because  I  am  Spirit 


224  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

or  Essence — something  too  subtle  for  your  eyes. 
But  My  works  you  can  see,  for  I  have  made  them 
visible  to  you  in  Matter,  and  by  My  works  you  can 
know  Me.  Test  Me  and  try  Me  for  yourselves — 
each  one  individually,  for  I  am  the  Father  of  each 
one  of  you.  If  yon  look  for  Me — here,  now,  in  this 
world — you  will  find  Me.  If  you  find  Me,  you  will 
love  Me.  That  is  Justice ;  and  I  am  the  Spirit  of 
Justice.  I  am  your  Father;  that  part  of  you  which 
you  call  Mind  is  Me.  Nature  is  your  mother;  she 
is  that  part  of  you  which  you  call  your  Body. 
Nature  is  My  creation,  Beautiful.  I  love  you  ;  and 
out  of  the  greatness  of  that  Love  give  you  Liberty, 
Liberty  to  do  what  you  like.  Some  may  think  it 
a  dangerous  gift — most  rulers  of  men  would,  that 
by  giving  it  to  you  I  might  lose  you  and  your  love. 
You  may  wander,  miss  My  Purpose,  be  led  astray 
by  other  gods  of  your  own  making,  but  one  day 
you  will  return  to  Me.  Having  tried  and  tested 
all,  and  having  found  all  wanting;  then,  whole- 
hearted, whole-minded,  you  will  return  to  Me ;  and 
all  your  love  will  be  for  Me.  I  am  long  suffering 
and  of  great  kindness." 

This  is  what  God,  my  God,  whispers  to  me. 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  225 


XV 

WHEN  I  confided  to  George  that  he  might  expect 
a  son  soon,  he  was  awfully  pleased;  and  the  fuss 
he  made  about  me  was  wonderful.  Everything  was 
to  be  exactly  as  I  wanted ;  for  he  had  great  faith  in 
my  judgment,  which  was  sensible  of  him. 

'Now  a  son  was  my  free  gift  to  George — I  knew 
it  was  going  to  be  a  son,  and  I  gave  it  with  a  cheer- 
ful countenance,  but  deep  down  in  the  pit  of  my 
tummy  was  an  awful  feeling  of  fear.  I  had 
suffered  so  horribly  with  Sheila.  However  I  kept 
up  my  spirits,  which  is  half  the  battle,  and  thought 
about  myself  as  little  as  possible.  When  one  is  ill 
or  afraid,  which  is  a  form  of  illness,  it  is  terribly 
difficult  not  to  think  about  oneself;  and  thinking 
about  oneself  causes  all  the  mischief  in  the  world, 
and  certainly  makes  one  feel  worse  and  more  afraid. 
A  vicious  circle,  just  like  Prices  and  Wages  to-day. 
Any  number  of  brilliant  people  have  been  trying 
to  solve  the  vicious  circle  of  wages  and  prices,  and 
most  of  them  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
only  remedy  is  Production.  There  is  only  one 
means  of  stopping  a  revolving  circle  and  that  is 
by  suspending  motion.  Production  only  gives  it 
added  impetus.  When  motion  is  suspended  people 
sit  down — and  think.  Thought  or  mischief — 

sometimes  both — is  the  natural  sequence  of  men  at 
p 


226  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

rest.  When  those  same  men  must  work  to  live, 
then  they  are  forced  into  the  condition  called  "  ca' 
canny."  If  I  were  a  working  man  I  certainly 
should  not  be  bamboozled  into  producing  more 
profits  for  the  profiteers.  I  should  ca'  canny  as 
cheerfully  as  possible  and  think  things  out  for  my- 
self. I  shouldn't  believe  what  the  Trades'  Union 
leaders  told  me,  neither  should  I  believe  the  Govern- 
ment, nor  anyone.  I  should  say  to  myself:  "  Bill 
Jones,  you  mayn't  have  much  of  a  head-piece,  but 
such  as  it  is  it's  yourn  and  nobody  else's,  and  it 
was  given  you  to  use."  And  I  should  use  it.  That 
done,  I  suppose  I  should  become  an  agitator  for 
the  nationalisation  of  everything. 

Nationalisation  is  a  horrible  evil  I  know.  Just 
fancy  this  Government,  or  any  other  Government 
composed  of  the  same  sort  of  people,  having  charge 
of  everything  1  The  very  thought  of  it  makes  one 
ill.  They  would  make  hundreds  of  new  offices 
every  day  for  their  friends,  the  cost  of  governing  us 
would  go  up  by  leaps  and  bounds,  and  taxes  would 
become  even  more  terrific  than  they  are  now.  That 
reminds  me:  isn't  it  funny  that  we  should  have  to 
pay  through  the  nose  for  the  pleasure  of  being 
governed  ? 

Poor  old  England  is  in  a  bad  way  nowadays. 
She  reminds  me  of  Gulliver  being  pegged  out  by 
Pigmies.  And  yet  we  fondly  imagine  that  we  are 
the  freest  people  in  the  world.  Someone  ought  to 
change  that  last  line  of  Rule  Britannia  about 
Britons  never,  never,  never,  etc.,  to  something  more 
appropriate  to  the  times  we  live  in.  Thinking 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  227 

things  over  the  other  night  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  there  are  only  two  things  uncontrolled  at 
present:  one  is  breathing  and  the  other  having 
children.  And  for  all  anyone  knows  we  may 
have  air  helmets  with  registers  served  out  to  us 
yet. 

Really  and  truly  I  believe  that  I  am — for  want 
of  a  better  word — a  Bolshevik.  I  don't  know 
anyone  of  importance  in  England  who  has 
confessed  to  being  one  so  far.  So  I  think  I  am 
still  original.  And  yet  I  believe  that  nine  out  of 
ten  thinking  women  are  as  Bolshevik  as  I  am. 
Nothing  blood  and  thundery — we  aren't  as 
excitable  as  the  Russians,  but  "  Bolshies  "  econo- 
mically. I  am  quite  sure  every  woman  loves 
Liberty,  far  more  than  our  menfolk  do  to-day,  and 
I  am  equally  certain  that  the  spirit — not  the  letter 
— of  Bolshevism  in  a  placid,  sane,  free  shape  is 
coming  to  England;  and  that  the  women  of 
England  will  bring  it  about. 

We  are  sick  of  wars,  we  are  weary  of  profiteers 
and  supermen,  we  are  tired  of  dishonesty,  and  even 
the  huge  dividends  that  some  of  us  get  now — 
thirty,  forty,  fifty  per  cent,  when  before  we  were 
content  with  three  and  four — disgust  many  of  us. 
And  we  are  mad,  mad  to  think  that  the  survivors 
of  those  splendid  men  we  sent  to  fight  for  us  are 
out  of  work  and  being  palmed  off  with  miserable 
pittances  for  pensions.  Women  are  essentially 
just ;  and  it  is  the  crying  injustice  of  it  all  that 
drives  us  to  seek  a  remedy. 

And  what  is  the  source  of  all  this  injustice,  my 


228  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

sisters  ?    For  to  remedy  the  evil  we  must  discover 
the  germ  that  causes  it. 

Great  men  have  told  us.  Tolstoy  proclaimed  it 
in  Russia.  Mr  Eddison  is  voicing  it  in  America. 
I,  a  mere  woman,  a  little  woman  at  that,  will  tell 
you.  It  is  Commercialism.  We,  the  great  free 
people  of  England,  have  become — all  unknown  to 
us — converts  to  the  great  god  of  the  Americans, 
who  in  their  turn  were  converted  by  the  Jews :  the 
Almighty  Dollar.  We  are  rapidly  becoming  a 
nation  of  sharks;  and  our  flag  should  be,  not  a 
Union  Jack,  but  three  golden  balls  on  a  black 
background  (a  favourite  colour  scheme  of  mine). 

Commercialism  is  the  system  which  set  up  the 
Golden  Calf  in  our  midst,  Civilisation  the  Law  that 
makes  us — willy  nilly — fall  down  and  worship,  and 
Christianity  (the  sadly  misapplied  teachings  of 
Christ)  is  the  salve  we  use  to  calm  our  conscience — 
a  sort  of  spiritual  cocaine.  I  think  most  sensible 
people  are  getting  rather  sick  of  Drugs. 

"While  Tolstoy  condemns  Commercialism  as  the 
curse  of  the  world,  Eddison  says  that  Civilisation 
is  becoming  too  complicated.  While  Tolstoy  was 
the  father  of  the  Russian  revolution,  Eddison 
evolves  a  scheme  to  oust  the  Almighty  Dollar  and 
substitute  for  it  the  ancient  system  of  barter. 

The  trouble  is  that  the  working  people  of  all 
nations  have  been  forced  into  the  chains  of  Com- 
mercialism to  produce,  produce,  produce  goods  and 
more  goods.  Those  goods  are  not  for  their  own 
consumption  nor  for  home  consumption,  but  to 
send  to  other  countries.  While  we  buy  American 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  229 

shoes,  Americans  buy  our  shoes.  Spanish  iron 
comes  here,  our  iron  goes  somewhere  else,  and  so 
on;  and  it  is  always  the  best  of  everything  that 
goes  to  the  other  people.  Hence  one  of  the  most 
paying  things  to  put  your  money  into  to-day  is  a 
Shipping  Company.  Meanwhile  the  people  who 
handle  these  things — in  invoices  or  over  the 
'phone — wax  rich  and  become  millionaires, 
Members  of  Parliament,  and  Noble  Lords.  I 
know  because  I  have  had  to  move  among  them — 
rather  unpleasant! 

There  is  heaps  of  everything  in  the  world  for 
everyone.  We  were  not  placed  on  a  desert  island 
by  some  awful  Deity  to  starve.  The  trouble  is  that 
almost  everything  is  in  the  hands  of  a  few  people — 
astute  financiers  we  call  them — who  have  formed 
themselves  into  Trusts.  These  Trusts  belie  their 
name ;  there  is  no  trust  about  them.  The  object  of 
these  combines  or  monopolies  is  said  to  be  to 
cheapen  production,  in  reality  it  is  to  control  the 
output,  so  that  there  shall  not  be  too  much  of  any 
one  commodity  on  the  market  at  the  same  time, 
and  so  that  the  price  shall  be  maintained.  From 
Petrol  to  Diamonds,  from  Soap  to  Bismuth,  all 
these  good  things  which  Nature  has  given  us,  are 
kept  from  us  by  the  Trusts — by  us  I  mean  the 
people  who  are  poor.  I  suppose  by  right  I  am 
not  in  that  class,  but  I  am  at  heart. 
.  Now  the  earth,  the  sea,  and  all  therein  belongs 
to  all  of  us  collectively,  just  as  much  as  the  air  we 
breathe.  These  things  are  ours,  and  there  is  ample 
for  everyone.  Trusts  innumerable,  backed  by 


230  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Governments  controlled  by  these  Trusts,  are 
keeping  us  from  our  possessions.  What  do  they 
care  whether  poor  people  starve  or  die,  so  long  as 
prices  leave  them  a  fat  profit  ?  Our  learned  judges 
punish  a  boy  for  stealing  an  apple,  while  they  are 
proud  to  call  a  man  friend  who  has  picked  people's 
pockets  to  the  tune  of  millions.  If  I  were  a  judge 
I  should  feel  very  sorry  for  some  of  the  people,  fat 
people  with  long  handles  to  their  names,  who  are 
on  my  visiting  list  to-day. 

The  remedy  for  the  world  is  first  a  Religion  of 
Happiness  and  Justice,  then  Government  by 
Honest  people  for  Free  people.  Nationalisation 
of  everything,  with  experts — not  lawyers — running 
the  various  industries;  gaol  for  all  members  of 
Trusts,  with  terms  varying  according  to  the  amount 
of  money  stolen ;  and  a  system  of  barter  between 
nations.  Our  Government  posts  a  list  of  all  we 
have  to  sell  and  another  of  what  we  wish  to  buy. 
Other  Governments  do  likewise.  Each  only  sells 
its  surplus.  Our  working  people  produce  goods- 
first  for  us,  then  for  other  countries.  All  work 
for  the  Community,  serve  the  Community.  No 
Government  should  sweat  its  people  in  order  to 
compete  with  outsiders;  its  first  duty  should  be  to 
see  to  the  comfort  of  its  work  people,  its  citizens; 
its  second  to  prevent  any  one  citizen  or  combina- 
tion of  citizens  getting  too  uppish ;  and  its  last  and 
greatest  duty  to  protect  its  weaker  citizens.  The 
greatness  of  a  country  should  be  judged  by  the 
care  it  takes  of  its  blind  and  halt  and  maimed 
citizens,  not  by  the  number  of  its  millionaires.  In 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  231 

other  words  a  country's  reputation  and  glory 
should  lie — not  in  the  number  of  its  palaces — but 
in  the  absence  of  poor  houses. 

And  the  only  Government  that  is  likely  to  do 
that  is  one  composed  of  people — men  and  women 
— who  have  no  shares  in  any  of  the  big  Trusts. 

If  only  shareholders  would  band  themselves 
together  into  a  "  Non-Usury  Union,"  and  dismiss 
any  director  who  dared  to  give  them  more  than 
four  per  cent  for  their  money,  and  decapitate  any 
chairman  who  authorised  the  "  watering  "  of  their 
stocks  and  shares.  That  would  help.  Unfortun- 
ately so  many  of  us  like  to  get  a  big  percentage  on 
our  money,  and  fail  to  see  that  by  doing  so  we  are 
acting  as  accomplices  to  a  crime.  Really  and  truly 
we  are  every  bit  as  bad  as  an  ordinary  burglar — 
if  not  worse.  I  am  afraid  that  scheme  wouldn't 
work.  I  for  one  would  vote  for  the  Labour  Party 
if  only  they  had  not  been  such  awful  Pacifists.  I 
can't  stand  Pacifists  in  war-time.  Then  again  they 
have  been  behaving  so  abominably  to  the  ex-service 
men,  refusing  them  work  and  not  allowing  them  to 
join  the  Unions.  They  ought  to  be  proud  to  have 
such  splendid  fellows  working  next  to  them,  and 
if  they  only  realised  it  they  would  benefit  by 
rubbing  elbows  with  such  men.  If  only  the 
Labour  Party  would — but  it's  quite  useless ;  and 
there  is  nothing  for  it  but  Communism.  I  am  a — 
goodness  knows  what  I  am  !  Lenin  and  Trotsky 
sound  such  brutes. 


232  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 


XVI 

I  AM  afraid  that  I  got  rather  put  off  in  my 
last  chapter.  That  is  the  worst  of  being  a  woman. 
I  see  I  started  with  George  and  finished  a 
sort  of  Bolshevik.  How  horrified  George  would 
have  been,  poor  dear ! 

By  a  curious  coincidence — something  always 
comes  to  help  me  in  times  of  difficulty,  God  I  call 
It — a  few  months  before  George  II. — he  was  to  be 
George  after  his  father — was  due  to  make  his  bow 
upon  this  stage  of  the  world  I  read  a  book  about 
"  Twilight  Sleep."  It  is  all  right  men  laughing; 
they  don't  have  to  have  babies,  otherwise  they 
would  change  their  tune. 

I  determined  to  have1  twilight  sleep.  I  told 
George,  and  he  approved  quite  nicely.  After  a 
long  search  I  found  a  doctor  who  approved,  and  he 
happened  to  be  a  woman.  Now  I  am  not  very  keen 
on  women,  as  I  think  I  mentioned,  and  a  woman 
doctor  sounded  positively,  dangerous.  However 
I  would  have  twilight  sleep,  and  as  I  couldn't  find 
a  man  doctor  to  do  it,  I  went  to  the  Doctoress.  She 
— I  can't  mention  her  name,  for  she  is  still  going 
strong — was  all  that  a  lady  doctor  should  be:  not 
too  young,  unmarried,  thin,  serious,  and  strong. 
Anyone  could  see  that  her  heart  was  in  her  work, 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  233 

sensible  woman !  Her  one  and  only  affaire-de- 
ccsur  had  gone  all  wrong,  poor  thing !  She  was 
most  pleasant  and  sympathetic,  todd  me  all  about 
twilight  sleep,  showed  me  five  twilight  sleep  babies 
—all  the  bonniest  little  things,  and  arranged  to 
take  me  in  her  Home  (not  hers,  because  doctors 
are  not  supposed  to  run  Nursing  Homes;  but 
they  do). 

George  decided  that  it  was  an  excellent  arrange- 
ment, and  booked  a  room  for  himself  at  the  Hotel 
just  round  the  corner  from  the  Home.  He  wanted 
to  be  near  me,  he  said;  awfully  unselfish  of  him, 
I  thought. 

In  due  season — that  is  two  weeks  before  the 
event,  one  doesn't  want  to  cut  these  things  too  close 

— we  moved  to  B .  Everyone  was  charming — 

they  always  are  if  one  has  money  and  a  title,  and 
most  people  are  to  me  at  any  time ;  and  the  sea  air 
did  George  a  lot  of  good. 

Then  there  ca,me  a  night — these  things  usually 
happen  at  night — when  the  matron  telephoned  to 
the  doctor,  and  the  doctor  arrived  with  the 
paraphernalia  of  her  trade,  chiefly  consisting  of  a 
hypodermic  syringe.  She  injeeted  the  Scopolmine- 
Morphine  mixture,  and  that  is  all  I  can  tell  you,  for 
I  don't  remember  anything  more — clearly.  I  have 
a  dim  recollection  of  someone  holding  up  some- 
thing, and  asking  me  what  it  was,  but  I  was  far 
too  sleepy  to  answer  silly  questions.  Afterwards 
they  told  me  that  it  was  a  piece  of  soap.  They 
always  hold  up  something,  to  see  if  one  remembers 
what  it  is. 


234  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

When  I  woke  up  it  was  to  find  dear  old  George 
stroking  my  forehead.  He  stopped  when  I  opened 
my  eyes. 

"  Where  am  I?  "  I  asked. 

"  In  the  Home,"  said  George. 

"Oh!  botheration!"  I  suddenly  remembered 
about  baby.  George  must  have  felt  my  thought, 
for  he  suddenly  rang  the  bell  over  my  head. 

"  Lady  L would  like  to  see  the  baby,"  he 

said  to  the  smiling  nurse. 

"  The  baby!  But  George!  "  I  thought  he  was 
joking,  and  yet  it  wasn't  in  George  to  joke, 
for  actually  I  remembered  nothing  of  any  baby. 
And  I  didn't  feel  in  the  least  ill  or  even 
uncomfortable. 

"  He's  a  fine  little  fellow,"  said  George,  rather 
humbly  I  thought — for  him. 

"  That  is  he,"  said  the  nurse,  who  came  in  at 
that  moment. 

He  was  really  a  fine  little  fellow,  not  fat,  but  very 
firm,  with  a  quantity  of  fair  hair,  and  he  was 
cooing  and  laughing,  as  pleased  as  Punch  to  be  in 
the  world  at  last. 

41  Seven  pounds,"  said  nurse. 

"  Just  like  you,"  said  George. 

"'  That  he  is!  "  said  nurse. 

And  there  really  was  a  likeness. 

"  It's  the  eyes,  me  lady,"  said  nurse.  "  He's 
got  laughing  eyes  just  like  your  ladyship." 

"  And  he's  got  that  dimple "  began  George. 

Suddenly  he  remembered  himself.  "  Well,  glad 
you're  feeling  better,  old  lady.  I  must  be  off  now, 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  235 

rather  important,  don't  you  know.  Ta-ta,  little 
'un." 

"  Won't  you  kiss  me,  George?  " 

George  stopped  short  as  if  he  had  been  shot, 
looked  at  me,  glared  solemnly  at  nurse,  and  opened 
the  door.  Nurse  stalked  out  with  great  dignity  and 
the  baby.  George  shut  the  door,  locked  it,  then 
tiptoed  over  to  me. 

"  You're  wonderful,"  he  said,  after  a  little  while. 

"  It's  Twilight  Sleep,"  I  said. 


XVII 

AFTER  dictating  the  last  chapter  yesterday  evening 
— I  always  do  one  chapter  at  a  sitting,  I  began  to 
rack  my  brains  for  something  amusing  to  say  in 
my  next.  Rather  difficult!  for  George  had  very 
little  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  and  war  had  just  been 
declared.  I  suppose  I  might  make  up  something 
funny,  but  the  trouble  is  that  when  one  invents 
things  about  people  they  are  so  seldom  true  to  life. 
It  takes  real  genius,  men  like  Thackeray  and 
Tolstoy  and  Maeterlinck,  to  create  children  from 
their  brains,  and  England  seems  rather  scarce  of 
genius  just  now;  so  we  authors  have  to  fall  back 
upon  writing  about  ourselves  and  our  friends.  Any 


236  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

fool  can  do  that,  I  know.  That  is  why  so  many 
people  write  nowadays  I  expect. 

It  was  rather  amusing  when  Ifttle  John  came  to 
see  us  just  before  he  got  his  commission.  Although 
he  was  only  seventeen  when  war  broke  out,  he 
immediately  ran  away  from  school  and  enlisted.  I 
was  rather  pleased  as  it  showed,  his  spirit ;  George 
was  horrified.  To  think  that  his  son-in-law  was  a 
ranker  I  He  insisted  on  applying  for  a  commission 
for  him,  and  so,  much  to  little  John's  disgust,  he 
found  himself  a  "  blinkin'  horficer,"  as  he  said. 
But  it  was  in  the  full  glory  of  a  private's  uniform 

that  he  came  to  spend  that  leave  with  us  at  S 

Court. 

I  think  I  have  mentioned  before  that  little  John 
was  rather  a  Socialist — it  is  curious  how  socialistic 
our  public  schools  are  getting  these  days,  isn't 
it?  I  suppose  the  fact  that  so  many  nouveaux 
riches  are  sending  their  sons  makes  the  other 
boys  socialistically  inclined.  I  know  that  when  I 
am  introduced  to  one  of  our  new  Lords  it  always 
makes  me  want  to  go  and  wash  my  hands  first, 
and  then  rush  off  and  shake  hands  with  the 
chimney-sweep  or  the  coal-man. 

Little  John  wired  the  time  of  his  arrival,  and 
James,  the  coachman,  went  to  meet  him.  James 
was  very  fond  of  Mr  John,  so  were  all  the  servants. 
He  was  usually  "'Master  John";  they  only 
promoted  him  when  he  donned  khaki.  Curiously 

enough  a  Captain  G ,  a  second  cousin  o* 

George's,  two  or  three  times  removed,  was  coming 
by  the  same  train.  Captain  G was  a  regular, 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  237 

very  smart  and  rather  conceited  as  becoming  a 
Captain  Sahib  in  the — well  he  was  a  guardsman. 

Our  station  is  a  tiny  one,  and  as  it  happened  only 

two  people  got  out;  one  was  Captain  G who 

climbed  down  from  a  first  class  carriage,  loaded 
with  gun  cases  and  kit  bags  and  things;  the  other 
was  little  John  and  his  haversack,  who  alighted 
from  a  third  smoker. 

James  was  on  the  look  out.  He  rushed  at  little 
John,  who  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand, 
insisted  on  taking  his  haversack,  and  led  him  off  in 
triumph. 

Captain  G called  the  station  master. 

"  Is  there — her — a  carriage  for  me  from  S 

Court?  "he asked. 

'  Yessir,"  said  the  station  master,  always  a 
polite  man.  In  fact  he  is  one  of  the  few  railway 
people  who  have  remained  polite  after  all  these 
strikes.  Funny  man  1  he  says  that  "  politeness 
costs  nothing." 

The  station  master  called  a  porter,  helped  to  load 
up  the  truck  himself,  and  then  called  James.  James 
touched  his  hat  and  stood  at  attention. 

'  Are      you — her — from      S Court,      my 

man?  " 

"  Yessir." 

1  Then  just — her — see  that  these  things — her — 
are  put  on  the  carriage  will  you." 

11  Yessir." 

Captain  G 's  luggage  was  hoisted  on  board ; 

Captain  G was  assisted  into  the  carriage ;  and 

when  he  was  duly  installed  little  John  appeared 


238  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

at  the  door,  saluted  smartly,  and  proceeded  to 
get  in. 

Captain  G was  horrified. 

"  Are  you — her — for  S Court,  my  man?  " 

he  asked,  fitting  a  monocle  into  his  eye. 

11  Yessir,"  said  little  John. 

"  Well — her — hadn't  you — her — better  sit — ah — 
on4he  box." 

"  It's  full  up  with  your  kit,"  said  little  John. 
And  in  he  got. 

The  drive,  four  miles  of  it,  was  passed  in  stilly 

silence;  with  Captain  G looking  out  of  one 

window  and  little  John  out  of  the  other.  Only 
when  the  house  appeared  in  view  did  little  John 
break  the  silence. 

"  Decent  old  place,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you — her — belong  here,  my  man?  " 

"  My  mother  lives  here,"  said  little  John. 

"  Oh  !  indeed.  I  suppose — her — that  she — her 
— has  a  devilish  good  place?  " 

"  I  think  she  likes  it,"  said  little  John. 

Just  then  they  arrived.  I  had  been  watching  out 
of  the  window,  and  ran  to  meet  them.  Little  John 

and  I  hugged  each  other  a  little.  Captain  G (I 

didn't  know  him  then)  looked  rather  uneasy. 

"  Hany  further  horders,  milady  ?  "  asked  James. 

Captain  G came  forward. 

"  My  mother,"  said  little  John.  I  didn't  know 
then  why  his  eyes  were  twinkling  so. 

Poor  Captain  G — — ,  two  weeks  later  we  heard 
that  he  had  gone,  shot  through  the  head  by  a 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  239 

sniper.  They  went  quickly  at  the  beginning, 
quietly,  with  a  laugh  for  our  fears.  It  is  hard  for 
us  to  laugh  now. 


XVIII 

LITTLE  John  was  always  great  fun.  I  think  that 
he  must  have  inherited  something  from  me, 
although  he  was  so  like  poor  dear  Edward.  Cer- 
tainly everyone  liked  him.  Even  George  was  fond 
of  him;  and  how  his  dignified  sense  of  propriety 
must  have  been  shocked  by  little  John's  doings  I 
And  little  John  was  always  doing  things,  start- 
lingly  unconventional  things.  I  remember  once, 
oh !  how  I  laughed  afterwards,  when  I  and  George 
in  our  carriage  of  state — liveried  footmen,  crest, 
and  cockades  all  complete,  found  him  in  our  village 
inn  with  Andrews,  a  young  groom  who  also  did 
the  duties  of  valet  to  him  when  he  came  to  stay,  in 
the  public  bar  and  tucking  in  to  bread  and  cheese 
and  beer.  George,  poor  dear,  looked  terribly 
shaken  ;  Andrews,  a  nice  boy,  horribly  startled ;  and 
even  I  felt  uncomfortable.  Not  so  little  John. 
While  we  waited  for  the  footman  to  return  from  the 
post  office,  which  was  opposite,  he  came  out, 
followed  by  the  landlord  bearing  a  large  tray  and 
glasses. 


24o  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

"  Port  for  you,  little  mother,"  he  announced, 
"  and  a  whisky  and  soda  for  the  pater." 

George  took  the  glass,  there  was  nothing  else 
to  be  done,  and  eyed  it  suspiciously ;  I  sipped  the 
port.  Parker,  the  landlord,  stood  rubbing  his 
hands  on  his  apron.  "  Ten  years  in  the  wood  if 
h'it's  a  day,  milady,"  he  beamed  ecstatically. 

"  And  that  there  whisky,  Sir  George " 

George  gulped  it  all  down  as  fast  as  he  could. 
'  Excellent  1  "  he  pronounced,  as  he  handed  back 
the  empty  glass.  But  I  don't  think  he  enjoyed  it, 
poor  dear. 

Poor  George  I  it  must  be  horrible  to  find  oneself 
living  in  the  wrong  generation.  George  was 
Victorian,  born  and  bred,  and  he  was  Victorian 
until — well,  until  he  went  to  France.  To  him  Class 
Distinction  was  not  an  imaginary  line,  but  a  stone 
wall.  And  he  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  break 
down  anything.  It  is  rather  sad,  I  think,  to  see 
'the  remnants  of  our  old  aristocracy  trying  to  bolster 
up  their  poor  old  crumbling  walls  against  the 
encroaching  tide  of  Mass  Education,  struggling  to 
stem  the  torrent  of  New  Ideas  with  their  Old 
Traditions.  And  they  go  down  fighting,  the  last 
of  our  Victorians,  our  old  English  gentlemen, 
fighting  Taxes  with  Economy,  more  Taxes  with 
more  Economy ;  always  aloof,  always  alone,  always 
honest.  A  great  generation,  conscious  of  its 
greatness,  dying  gloriously.  But  who  knows  that 
the  new  generation  may  not  be  greater  yet  ? 

Oh !  you  poor  little  creatures  who  snap  and 
snarl  at  the  dead,  who  bark  at  those  bigger  than 


GEORGE— MY  THIRD  241 

yourselves,  why  not  be  content  to  grow — that  is 
God's  Purpose  for  us  all — to  go  on  growing.  To 
be  quiet  does  not  necessarily  mean  to  be  content. 
The  rose-bud  is  not  content  to  remain  for  ever  a 
bud;  but  it  does  not  wage  war  against  its  brother 
rose  because  it  is  full  grown ;  it  does  not  proclaim 
that  all  roses  must  be  buds.  Rather  it  is  content 
to  go  on  increasing.  To-day  a  bud,  to-morrow 
bigger,  one  day  a  perfect  rose  full  blown ;  and  then 
a  puff  of  wind  and  a  few  petals  on  the  grass 
Gone!  who  knows  where?  perhaps  to  God.  But 
it  lived  to  grow,  lived  to  give  joy  to  us  and  the 
butterfly  and  the  bee,  lived  as  an  example  of  God's 
will  upon  earth ;  and  in  its  living  it  was  lovely.  A 
sermon  ;  I  am  sorry.  It  is  so  difficult  to  keep  from 
airing  one's  opinions  in  book  form. 

For  the  first  year  of  the  war  I  quite  agreed  with 
Roger  that  middle-aged  married  men  were  scarcely 
the  stuff  of  which  to  make  heroes;  after  middle 
age  one  is  so  apt  to  be  stuffy  and  even  a  little 
stodgy.  Then  it  became  obvious  to  all  except  our 
Government  that  we  were  in  for  a  long  war.  Little 
John  wrote  that  they  were  always  short  of  men 
and  munitions  and  that  every  man  capable  of 
wielding  a  gun  would  be  required  to  win.  George 
could  use  a  gun  quite  well,  and  I  told  him  that  he 
ought  to  go.  George  said  that  he  was  doing  more 
valuable  work  in  seeing  that  his  tenants  grew 
wheat.  More  men  were  needed,  everyone  and  the 
papers  said  so;  George  persuaded  every  single  man 
of  military  age  on  the  estate  to  join  up.  Still  more 
men  were  wanted;  George  took  a  leading  part 
Q 


242  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

recruiting  in  the  County.  I  said  that  it  did  not  look 
decent  for  a  man  in  civilian  clothes  to  urge  other 
men  into  khaki.  George  joined  the  Air  Force, 
as  a  Major.  He  looked  quite  nice  in  uniform. 
George  got  a  job  as  an  Inspector  of  something 
connected  with  flying;  goodness  knows  how  he 
learnt  to  be  an  Inspector;  he  said  that  any  idiot 
could  inspect.  He  went  to  London ;  I  went  with 
him.  Go  out?  not  if  he  knew  it,  said  George.  He 
was  far  too  old;  he  would  crock  up  in  a  week; 
besides  he  was  doing  far  more  valuable  work 
inspecting. 

"  Any  idiot  can  inspect,"  I  said. 

"  All  the  idiots  are  needed  in  the  Army,"  said 
George.  He  didn't  mean  that. 

It  wasn't  that  George  was  frightened ;  he  was  too 
much  of  a  sportsman.  But  I  am  quite  sure  that  he 
thought  it  "  infra  dig  "  to  enlist  or  even  to  take 
an  ordinary  commission  in  a  line  regiment.  Of 
course  he  was  over  age,  I  know,  and  yet  I  should 
have  gone  if  I  had  been  a  man  and  his  age.  But 
then  I  come  of  soldier  stock,  and  George  did  not. 

And  then  v/e  heard  that  little  John  had  been 
killed,  and  I — well  I  just  made  George  go.  I  must 
say  that  once  he  had  made  up  his  mind,  he  did 
the  thing  properly.  He  applied  for  a  transfer  into 
the  Infantry,  did  two  months  drilling,  and  went 
out ;  and  what  is  more  stayed  out.  He  had  a  lot 
of  fine  stuff  in  him;  and  before  the  year  was  out  he 
got  his  regiment. 

I  didn't  see  much  of  him,  even  en  his  leaves, 
for  I  was  working  at  the  Victoria  Station  buffet. 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  243 


XIX 

A  CHANGE  came  to  George.  He  was  still  old- 
fashioned,  still  separated  from  his  fellows  by  his 
old  wall  of  Tradition,  but  he  had  begun  to  look  over 
the  wall. 

"  Do  you  know,  old  lady,"  he  wrote  in  one  of  his 
weekly  letters — I  have  it  now — "  things  look 
different  out  here.  Men  one  used  to  think  a  lot 
of  prove  to  be  '  wash  outs  ' — that's  slang,  but 
expressive;  while  fellows — ordinary  sort  of  chaps, 
sons  of  nobodies,  turn  up  trumps.  One  of  my 

subalterns,  son  of  old  J the  ironmonger  in 

T ,  you  probably  may  have  noticed  the  man,  he 

used  to  wear  a  pink  shirt  with  a  green  tie,  an 
awful  cad  I  used  to  think  him,  well  he's  splendid. 
One  would  have  thought  from  the  way  he  handles 
men  that  he  had  been  born  to  it ;  and  the  fellow  is 
absolutely  fearless ;  I  have  just  sent  in  his  name  for 
the  M.C. 

1  Then  there  is  another  fellow,  a  Canadian  with 
an  accent  that  you  could  cut  with  a  knife.  1  have 
just  passed  him  for  promotion.  He  has  got  the 
cheek  of  the  Old  Gentleman  himself,  only  says  Sir 
by  accident,  and  respects  no  one.  He  was  holding 
forth  one  night  in  the  Mess  on  the  subject  of  Titles, 


244  MY  THREE  HUSBANDS 

when  I  walked  in.  He  apologised  in  front  of  every- 
one; no  gentleman  could  have  done  more.  But 
some  of  them,  Great  Scotl  they  make  one's  hair 
stand  on  end." 

How  George  stood  trench  life  the  way  he  did  is 
quite  beyond 'me,  for  he  was  quite  old  really;  I 
suppose  his  hunting1  and  shooting  had  kept  him  fit. 
He  was  in  all  sorts  of  battles,  went  over  "  the  top  " 
goodness  knows  how  many  times,  was  all  through 
the  Somme,  and  never  a  scratch.  West,  his  valet, 
who  had  gone  out  as  his  batman,  and  to  whom  I 
had  given  strict  instructions,  used  to  write  that 
"  the  master  wore  a  charmed  life."  Poor  West! 
he  went  too. 

I  began  to  feel  very  proud  of  George ;  and  he  did 
look  nice  in  uniform  with  a  string  of  medal  ribbons. 
They  gave  him  the  D.S.O.  twice  over  and  the 
Croix  de  Guerre  and  the — I  have  got  them  all 
somewhere  safe  for  George  II.,  when  he  grows  up ; 
they  don't  interest  me  much.  And  then  he  got 
blown  up  and  buried  by  a  mine  and  came  home. 
The  curious  thing  about  it  was  that  he  didn't  look 
badly  hurt;  in  fact  one  couldn't  see  anything;  and 
he  was  never  in  hospital  at  all.  But  he  was 
peculiar,  most  peculiar.  The  first  thing  he  did  was 
to  order  me  to  leave  my  work. 

Now  I  hate  being  ordered,  as  I  believe  I've 
mentioned,  and  George  had  never  tried  to  order 
me  about  in  his  life.  I  refused.  George  came  all 

the  way  up  from  S Court  and  presented  himself 

at  my  buffet. 

"  Tea  or  coffee?  "  I  asked. 


GEORGE— MY  THIRD  245 

"  We're  going  home  by  the  five-fifty,"  said 
George. 

"  Oh,  are  we?  "  I  said,  and  turned  to  serve 
a  K.O.S.B.  boy. 

"  We  are,"  said  George. 

And  the  extraordinary  part  about  it -was  that  we 
did  go.  Why  I  went  I  don't  know  to  this  day. 
I  think  that  it  was  something  in  George's  eye  that 
frightened  me. 

I  was  reading  a  story  some  time  ago  about  a 
man  whose  body  had  been  entered  by  the  soul 
of  a  German,  and  really  and  truly  I  do  believe  that 
some  beastly  German  must  have  got  into  George's. 
The  old  George  was  devoted  to  me;  this  George 
hated  me — one  could  see  it  in  every  action.  It 
was  awful !  The  old  George  was  stolid  and  mild 
and  rather  stodgy;  this  George  was  worse  than 
Roger,  my  second  husband,  at  his  worst.  At  least. 
Roger  had  been  openly  off  his  head;  George  was 
slinkily  and  slimily  and  cunningly  mad.  One 
could  see  him  watching  one  furtively,  one  could 
feel  the  beastly  things  that  he  thought  about  one. 
Then-  again  he  was  moody,  which  he  had  never 
been  before.  For  days  at  a  time  he  would  speak  to 
no  one;  either  wander  about  by  himself  when  it 
was  tine  or  shut  himself  up  in  his  study.  At  times 
he  drank,  drank  himself  into  a  stupor.  For  close 
on  a  year  no  one  crossed  our  threshold;  not  only 
did  he  refuse  to  see  people,  but  he  actually  refused 
to  allow  me  to  see  anyone.  And  he  was  always 
suggesting  nasty  things  about  women,  and  reading 
extracts  from  the  papers  about  wretched  women 


246  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

who  had  gone  wrong  while  their  husbands  were 
abroad.  I  think  newspapers  should  be  prevented 
from  printing  these  horrors. 

At  first  I  was  furious;  and  then  I  began  to  get 
more  and  more  frightened.  With  a  great  deal  of 
difficulty  I  got  a  specialist  to  see  him.  He  said  it 
was  "  shell  shock,"  and  explained  that  George  was 
like  a  machine  that  had  run  itself  down,  that  his 
nerves  were  all  unstrung  and  that  he  needed  rest. 

God  knows  I  did  my  best.  Whenever  I  felt  like 
running  out  of  the  house  and  leaving  him  for 
good,  I  always  tried  to  remember  what  the  doctor 
had  said,  and  I  kept  saying  to  myself  that  it  was  the 
price  of  Victory,  that  many  men  were  in  a  worse 
condition  than  he,  and  that  the  least  a  wife  could 
do  was  to  stick  it.  So  I  stuck  it. 

And  then  he  became  jealous — a  thing  he  had 
never  been.  As  there  were  no  men  of  our  own 
kind,  he  accused  me,  me,  of  flirting  with  the  men 
servants.  The  first  time  I  threw  a  plate  at  him, 
and  he  cried  like  a  baby,  great,  big,  bitter  tears. 
That  sobered  me.  I  think  I  cried  too,  for  the 
strain  was  beginning  to  tell.  I  got  rid  of  all  the 
men  servants. 

And  so  the  days  passed  into  weeks;  months. 
The  Armistice  came,  and  peace,  what  a  peace !  I 
was  frightened  when  I  looked  at  myself  in  the 
glass.  And  George's  machine  did  not  mend.  The 
doctors  said  that  I  must  take  him  away,  that  he 
needed  a  change  of  scene.  As  well  order  me  to 
move  a  mountain.  In  sheer  desperation  I  wrote 
to  his  mother.  She  came;  and  he  cursed  her, 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  247 

raved  at  her,  called  her  everything  that  was 
horrible.  She  was  glad  to  go  back  to  Cornwall. 
He  seemed  to  hate  even  his  own  son. 

Twice,  no  three  times,  I  left  him.  And  then  the 
piteous,  appealing  letters,  beseeching,  imploring 
me  to  come  back  to  him,  that  I  was  his  God,  his 
salvation,  his  everything,  that  without  me  he  would 
die.  Letters  of  a  child,  a  passionate,  perverse 
child.  And  woman  like,  I  went  back  to  him.  It 
wn*  Carlyle  and  his  wife,  only  infinitely  more  so. 
My  friends  told  me  that  I  was  a  fool.  I  suppose 
that  I  was  a  fool  in  their  eyes. 

The  nights  were  the  worst,  for  George  could  not 
sleep.  Sometimes  for  a  week,  ten  days  on  a 
stretch,  he  'never  closed  an  eye.  I  wonder  that  I 
didn't  go  mad  myself  with  the  horror.  He  would 
see  faces  on  the  wall,  one  after  another;  like  a 
cinematograph  show  they  would  come,  he  said; 
and  he  would  describe  them  to  me.  "  An  old 
fellow  with  a  Vandyke  beard  and  ruffles,  and  a 
horrid  leer  "  came  quite  often,  and  the  Devil — not 
the  horned  and  hoofed  variety — but  something  that 
would  make  George  cry  out  in  mortal  terror;  the 
Spirit  of  Evil  he  called  it. 

All  this  time  he  slept  in  my  bed,  for  he  was 
terrified  to  be  alone.  "  Oh  my  God!  it's  coming 
now,"  he  would  say,  and  wake  me  up.  When  I 
was  awake  "  things  "  did  not  come,  he  said.  And 
so  I  stayed  awake  as  much  as  I  could.  One  night 
it  was  a  "  phosphorescent  woman  "  that  came;  I 
must  have  been  dozing.  George's  shriek  of  terror 
woke  me.  He  was  shivering  all  over,  and  explained 


248        MY  THREE  HUSBANDS 

that  she  "  held  the  key  to  his  soul,"  and  that  she 
was  "  ghastly,  all  skin  and  bones  and  Evil." 
Somehow  it  was  always  Evil  that  he  feared, 
horrid,  distorted,  dreadful  Evil.  And  it  was  Evil 
that  he  saw.  At  these  times  he  would  cling  to  me 
like  a  child.  It  wasn't  in  human  nature  to  leave 
him  for  long. 

As  his  dreams,  or  thoughts,  or  whatever  it  was, 
became  worse,  the  more  he  leaned  on  me.  At 
those  times  it  was  not  Love,  but  rather  Worship 
that  he  felt  for  me.  One  night  he  told  me  that  he 
had  dreamt  that  he  had  crucified  me,  and  that  I  was 
Christ  on  the  Cross ;  that  if  I  wanted  to  I  could  save 
him.  It  was  heart  breaking. 

I  often  wonder  how  many  soldiers'  wives  have 
had  the  same  experience.  I  am  sure  there  must 
be  numbers.  Every  day  one  reads  in  the  papers  of 
ex-service  men,  who  commit  the  most  outrageous 
crimes,  killing  those  whom  they  must  have  loved. 
They  should  not  be  tried  for  murder;  it  isn't  right, 
nor  just.  One  might  as  well  have  called  George  a 
murderer,  morally  at  least,  for  time  and  again  he 
tried  to  kill  me;  one  night  I  found  a  razor  under 
the  pillow.  Times  without  number  he  thought 
murderously  about  me;  and  I  could  never  let  him 
see  his  son.  Men  in  that  condition,  men  who  have 
fallen  into  that  condition  for  us,  surely  deserve 
some  consideration,  some  mercy  from  us?  The 
Government  must  take  care  of  them,  nurse  them 
back  to  the  normal,  before  they  cast  them  adrift 
upon  the  unseeing,  unthinking  world  of  men  and 
women.  They  are  our  best  those  men,  the  best 


GEORGE— MY  THIRD  249 

that  are  left  to  us;  and  we,  we  treat  them  as 
outcasts  or  common  criminals. 

The  shell  shock  case,  the  nerve  case,  the  mental 
case,  the  blind,  the  halt,  and  the  maimed  should 
be  our  heroes;  they  are  our  heroes  1  They  cannot 
compete  in  the  Great  Struggle  which  we  have  made 
of  Life.  They  cannot  push  and  jostle  their  way  to 
that  Success  which  we  call  Possession  of  Money. 
If  they  must  live  by  the  sweat  of  their  poor  brows, 
by  the  labour  of  their  crippled  bodies,  then  they 
must  die.  To-day  they  are  destitute,  starving, 
starving  with  their  great  dumb  eyes  fixed  upon 
us,  upon  us  for  whom  they  would  have  died. 
Employers  of  labour  complain  that  they  cannot  do 
the  work.  Labour  itself  scoffs  and  says:  "  More 
fools  they."  The  King  himself  pleads  for  them 
in  vain. 

And  so  we  Christians  crucify  our  Christs. 


XX 

GEORGE  died.  There  was  no  inquest,  for  the 
doctor  was  kind.  "  Heart  failure  "  was  what  the 
certificate  said.  Heart  failure  covers  such  a  multi- 
tude of  mistakes,  such  an  ocean  of  sadness,  doesn't 
it?  and  so  many  diseases,  and  things  that  are  not 
diseases. 


250  MY    THREE    HUSBANDS 

Only  after  a  bitter  struggle  did  I  allow  the  doctor 
to  prescribe  Veronal  for  him,  only  after  everything 
had  failed.  I  tried  everything  that  had  ever  been 
known  to  cure  Insomnia,  I  think:  light  suppers 
instead  of  dinner,  a  walk  in  the  dark  before  going 
to  bed,  a  cup  of  hot  milk  the  last  thing  at  night, 
biscuits  by  the  bedside  to  nibble  at  night,  a  hot 
water  bottle  on  the  nape  of  the  neck,  menthol 
rubbed  on  the  forehead  and  the  neck  cords.  Poor 
darling,  towards  the  last  I  had  only  to  suggest  a 
thing  for  him  to  do  it ;  he  was  so  tired,  so,  so  tired. 
He  even  gave  up  smoking,  and  all  stimulants.  I 
tried  everything  for  him :  nerve  tonics,  Phosphates 
(I  remembered  that  from  Roger),  Bromide,  I  even 
got  a  man  down  to  try  Hypnotic  Suggestion.  I 

tried  to  get  my  old  friend  Major  W ,  I  thought 

that  Christian  Science  might  help  him ;  but  he  was 
dead,  he  too  had  gone  out  and  got  killed.  Every- 
one who  might  have  helped  seemed  to  have  died, 
all  my  old  friends,  even  my  father  and  my  brother, 
even  little  John.  All  my  living  friends  deserted 
me  in  the  hour  of  trouble ;  to-day  they  come  to  call 
and  laugh  and  chatter  and  jazz  just  in  the  old  new 
way.  They  think  me  changed.  They  are  rather 
afraid  of  my  opinions,  I  think.  It  is  the  war,  they 
say.  Perhaps  it  is. 

George  died  in  my  arms.  He  went  to  sleep 
after  his  evening  dose;  1  watched  until  I  could  hear 
his  deep  regular  breathing,  and  then  I  too  fell 
asleep.  \Vlu-n  I  woke  up  he  was  dead.  Not  cold, 
nor  clammy,  but  warm  with  my  warmth.  Not 
with  the  old  staring  horror  in  his  eyes,  but  fast 


GEORGE— MY    THIRD  251 

asleep.  He  looked  so  peaceful,  so  like  the  old 
George,  only  the  lips  were  blue,  that  I  had  no 
feeling  of  fear.  The  Veronal  bottle,  empty,  lay 
qh  the  floor. 

,  Everyone  says  that  I  was  extraordinarily  calm 
and  collected.  I  was.  For  strange  though  it  may 
seem  I  knew  that  it  was  God,  not  Death,  who  had 
taken  George.  And  all  my  loss  has  been  gain,  for 
while  my  friends  have  gone,  I  stay  on,  as  the  Irish 
say,  "  to  make  my  soul." 


XXI 

I  MAY  even  marry  again,  who  knows? 

Perhaps  a  profiteer  may  be  delivered  into  my 
hands.  I  dearly  love  to  tweak  the  tail  of  the 
Golden  Calf. 


Sfl 


